


Everything I Did to Get to You

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chance Meetings, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: Castiel comes home from a business trip to learn that Dick, his boyfriend of five years, has been entertaining paid company while he's been out of town, and it's not the first time. They break up, but keep living together while Cas looks for a new apartment.At a business dinner soon after, Cas runs into someone he’d never expected to see again: Dean Winchester, his unrequited high school crush. He’s surprised when Dean gives him an enthusiastic greeting, and annoyed when their talk is interrupted by Dick, who acts a little possessive. Despite that he and Dean reconnect, and quickly become close friends.Each of them harbors a secret about the other that prevents them from voicing their desire for more, and the awkward living situation Cas is still in doesn’t help matters. With a little prodding from mutual friends, maybe these two can finally find their way back to a path they missed the first time.
Relationships: Balthazar & Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel & Meg Masters, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dick Roman (Supernatural), Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Other(s)
Comments: 132
Kudos: 411
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Empty Smile

**Author's Note:**

> If ever a story took an entire village to complete, it was this one. I started this during Nanowrimo in 2019 for a 5K fic challenge, but it quickly grew too big for that. I abandoned it for a couple of months before deciding to retool it for the DCBB this year, and it was like pulling teeth the entire time. Every week I wanted to scrap it and start something else, or drop the challenge so I'd never have to look at it again, or set my entire laptop on fire in the front yard and walk away from it Angela Bassett style. 
> 
> The usual cast of characters are responsible for this reaching the finish line: Lauren, Janet, Diamond, Cat, Jojo, Busy, and Milli, thank you for not letting me give up, even in any small way. Special thanks to Janet for thoughtful advice when I didn't know how to end things, and then for beta reading when it was finally over. I'm happy to say that I no longer hate this fic, despite it becoming oddly prescient and being really uncomfortable for me to work on at one point. 
> 
> I found further inspiration to finish when I was chosen by my amazing artist and all around good bean, MasterOfEvilMonkeyness, who had nothing but praise and enthusiasm for the fic and made some gorgeous pieces that took my breath away. You can shower her with much deserved love [HERE](https://masterofevilmonkeyness.tumblr.com/post/631324829358981120/here-is-my-art-masterpost-for-dcbb-i-was-lucky-to)!
> 
> Title is taken from the song of the same name by Ben Platt.

“You'd never know this was an empty smile, but then my days have felt like this for quite a while.” - _Break the World_ , **Nine Lashes**

***

Cas climbs out of the cab with a groan, dragging his travel bag out behind him and nudging the door shut with his hip. The night air is crisp enough to see his breath, making him shiver in the distance between the curb and the revolving door of his building, but then he's released into the warm air of the lobby with a woosh from the vacuum seal. He waves wearily to the night manager on duty behind the desk as he makes his way to the elevator, grateful that it's the middle of the night, so that it goes right up to his floor without stopping. 

He enters the dark condo and leaves his bag next to the door so he doesn't have to stumble through the dark with it, shedding his trench coat as he makes his way to the kitchen and turns on the light above the stove. He'd taken the red eye home to get ahead of the storm front heading their way, but the flight had been turbulent and he's still keyed up even though he's barely slept. The best thing to do is indulge in a cup of hot cocoa before going to bed, warm up his insides and make him sleepy. 

It's only after he fills the kettle and turns off the faucet that he realizes he can hear the shower running. 

A glance at the microwave shows him _3:11_ in bright green digits and he frowns, concerned that Dick may not be feeling well. He feels a little guilty for being so busy wrapping up meetings and trying to get his travel rearranged that he hadn't even texted him all day. 

_It’s no wonder there’s a growing rift between us,_ Cas thinks, admonishing himself for his thoughtlessness, but his chiding grinds to an abrupt halt when he steps into the hall and realizes that the shower he hears is from the guest bathroom. 

There’s an en suite in their bedroom, meticulously appointed, and there’s no reason Dick would be using the other one unless their shower was broken. He dithers in the hall for a bit, considering while he stares at the little strip of light bleeding out from underneath the doorway, biting his lower lip. He travels once a month at least, and he wonders if Dick has been taking advantage of those absences, and for how long. 

He confirms his suspicions by opening the door of his bedroom, where Dick is sound asleep and softly snoring as though he has no conscience whatsoever. _Asshole_. Cas is pondering the best course of action when the door to the guest bathroom opens, spilling light out into the hallway. He quickly pulls the bedroom door closed as he turns to find a startled young man staring at him, frozen in the act of towel drying his hair.

They regard each other for a moment, and then the stranger seems to deflate completely. "Boyfriend?" he asks in a low voice, and Cas nods, putting a finger up to his lips and pointing towards the kitchen. He can hear the guy following, the whisper quiet shuffle of his bare feet on the carpet, and he leans against the counter to take a deep breath before turning to regard the stranger in his home.

"I didn't know." The guy looks even younger in the low light, clutching the towel he'd been using on his hair in both hands, twisting it between them in his nervousness. "He never said."

"I expect he didn't." Cas puts the kettle on like he’s having a visitor, not a three a.m. tête-à-tête with a stranger wearing his boyfriend's luxury terry cloth bathrobe. "I was conveniently out of town." And their home is conveniently devoid of any personal pictures or mementos, the kind of touches that would make it obvious that two people in a relationship shared the space. 

“Too sentimental,” Dick had said when they moved in. “We're both adults and professionals, Cas, not teenagers decorating a dorm room.” 

_Asshole_. 

"What's your name?"

"Well, um. My stage name is Samandriel. I don’t give out my real name."

"That's smart. Would you like some hot cocoa, Samandriel, even if it's instant?"

"I should probably…” He gestures vaguely at the front door, giving Cas a questioning look before he speaks. “Aren't you going to throw me out? I'm, well, I guess I'm not the 'other man' as much as a rent boy, but aren’t you angry at me?"

"No," Cas says, to his own surprise. He is completely devoid of any emotion, and he wonders idly why that is. "You didn't set out to hurt anyone. It's a very awkward situation, but you're not the one who created it. I just thought, well, you must be very uncomfortable right now, and cocoa always makes me feel better." 

Samandriel visibly relaxes. "I'll, um, I'll get dressed, but yeah. I'd like that. Thanks." He turns towards the bedroom but pauses.

"Don't worry," Cas assures him. "He's so deeply asleep that bombs could go off in the room and he'd hear nothing." Dick's usual post-orgasm comas last for hours, Cas knows, and no amount of noise will wake him up. Cas learned long ago he didn't need to keep very quiet after Dick passed out, given how many times he's had to get himself off afterwards. _Asshole_.

Samandriel comes back in sweatpants, sneakers, and a hooded sweatshirt from the local university, with a black gym bag slung over his shoulder. He nods gratefully as he takes the warm mug Cas slides across the island towards him, blowing on it before holding it close to his chest. 

"Please tell me you're not a freshman."

"No." Samandriel shakes his head before taking a sip from his mug. "I just started my senior year. The stripping, it's one of the ways I pay for school. It's why I also, um, take clients on the side." He shuffles his feet, looking embarrassed. "It was good money, but I swear I wouldn't have done it if I'd known. I do have a moral compass, even if I get paid for my company." Samandriel steels his jaw and glares toward the bedroom. "Can't believe I bought his 'I'm too busy with my career to have a relationship' bullshit. I actually felt sorry for him. He spends a lot of time where I work, and I know I'm not the only one he's taken home. You're good looking and obviously a very nice man. He seems like a sleaze ball in comparison."

Cas just nods, wondering if he'll ever be able to tell the story of this night and laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You're not at fault for what happened here. And there's no reason for you to be ashamed of how you support yourself, either. _Any_ aspect of it." 

"Yeah. Part time hours at The Wiener Hut don’t cut it.” His eyes widen, and he looks alarmed for a moment. “Please don’t…”

"Your secret is safe with me."

Samandriel nods grimly, then drinks the last of his cocoa before placing the empty mug on the island between them. "I'll get out of your way, but thank you. For not acting the way you had every reason to. Just because I'm a stripper doesn't mean I'm a homewrecker."

A bark of sharp laughter leaves Cas at that, and Samandriel grins at him before turning towards the door. 

"Wait. I'll call down to the desk clerk and have him get you a cab." Cas follows him to the door and uses the intercom beside it to make the call, then opens it for him. "Stay safe."

"Thank you, um. You never told me your name."

“You never told me yours, either,” Cas says in a conspiratorial whisper, and Samandriel smiles in return. He has a sweet face, and it reminds Cas of another smile like that from long ago. He blinks the thought away.

“Fair enough.”

Cas extends a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation a hand is extended to him in return. The kid’s got a good grip.

"Good luck, Samandriel." 

"Good luck to you, too, mister." He casts a meaningful glance in the direction of the bedroom, then he pulls away, heading down the hallway in the direction of the elevator.

Cas leans his back against the door after he closes it, looking around the condo they had rented two years ago. Dick had been adamant that it was perfect based on the building's amenities and the ease of commute to the firm where they both worked. The amount of stripper glitter likely smeared across their bedsheets brings Dick's appreciation of the on site laundry service into stark focus, as well as the convenient express elevator from their floor directly to the parking garage below. Cas had acquiesced to the choice, like he had on so many other things, and now here he is: five years into a relationship that just exploded in front of his face, and in its wake a distinct sense of dread that he's wasted so much time in it for nothing.

He decides to make himself another cup of Swiss Miss, and as he retrieves it from its hiding spot he muses about the secrets couples keep. Cas's secret is that he keeps a stash of his favorite cheap, manufactured beverage hidden in the kitchen, but he has a feeling that Dick's secret won't fit in a decorative tin on the top shelf behind the coffee filters. The water is still hot enough, so he fills the mug to the brim and sits at the island, sipping it slowly as he thinks about what he's supposed to do now. The jittery feeling that accompanied him into the condo less than an hour ago seems to have dispersed for the moment, but he still feels more alert than he has since what is, now, yesterday morning. 

Dick emerges from the bedroom a few hours after Samandriel leaves, freshly showered and carrying soiled bed sheets. He comes to a screeching halt when he sees Cas, still sitting at the kitchen island. Dick’s eyes drift to the door and the travel bag still on the floor beside it, then back to Cas.

"I called a cab to take your friend home," he says casually, not looking at Dick directly. He's been thinking about what he'd say when he appeared, but that was not an opening salvo he'd considered until he heard it leaving his mouth. Dick doesn't even have the grace to look ashamed. "I'll be happy to call a cab for you as well while you pack a bag."

"Don't be ridiculous, Castiel. I'm not..."

"We're finished," he says firmly, with a calm he's surprised to feel. 

"Castiel." The tone of Dick's voice is filled with a warm indulgence that doesn't remotely pass for sincere. "I'm sure there's something I can do to make this up to you."

"You can leave the premises immediately and let me know where to send the rest of your things."

"I'm not moving out of my home just because you can't overlook a single indiscretion."

"You're a fool if you think _I'm_ fool enough to believe this was the only time." Dick clenches his jaw but looks away. "I don’t want you here.”

"You can't force me to leave, Castiel, we're not married and this isn't a divorce." 

Cas pretends that doesn't sting. "Fine. I’ve never liked it here, so as soon as I find an apartment I’ll be gone.”

They stare at one another, both of them silent and immobile, waiting for the other to flinch. Cas expects to feel the urge to acquiesce once again, to give in as he's conditioned himself to do for the last five years, but it doesn't come. He’s passed the event horizon, and he can see on Dick’s face the moment he realizes that Cas is beyond his manipulation. 

"What do you think you’re going to do without me, hmm?" The sneer that twists his face is not unfamiliar to Cas, though he doubts anyone else has ever seen the carefully crafted veneer of that public persona crack. “You think you’ll be able to find another successful man willing to put up with all your gauche quirks, your ill-informed opinions?” He takes a step, and Cas instinctively backs away even though the kitchen island is between them. “No one else will tolerate your behavior as gracefully as I have all these years.”

“Our relationship sounds so romantic when you put it that way. However could I give it up?” 

“Your sarcasm is going to be the only thing warming your bed if you do this.”

“And it will still be a better lover than you are.” 

***

It takes three rings for the sound of the phone to register with Cas, breaking through the fog that jumbles his mind as he scrolls dully through apartment listings. He vaguely remembers that his assistant is away from her desk as he fumbles for the phone, interrupting the fourth ring. He mumbles his name into the receiver by way of greeting without even looking away from his computer screen.

“Castiel,” Dick oozes in that salesman patois of his, and Cas grips the receiver tight enough to hear it groan under the strain. It's only been a few days, and he already views Dick with a distaste that must have long been simmering below the surface to have taken him over so completely, and so quickly. 

“What do you want?” he seethes through his teeth. 

“Have you forgotten about the dinner tonight with Adler’s new client?”

He closes his eyes in frustration, because he hasn’t looked at his calendar properly for days.

"I can tell from your silence that I’m right, and since I know you didn’t drive in this morning I’ll be happy to give you a lift to the venue.” 

“It’s only a twenty minute ride by train, and you’d know that if you weren’t such a snob about public transportation, or had any concern whatsoever for your own carbon footprint.”

“I’m sure you’ll lecture me all about it on the ride over, as usual.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking a cab. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re no longer a couple.”

“ _You_ are the one who wanted to end our relationship..."

"I didn't think it would matter, given all the other _relationships_ you were clearly having at the same time."

“Flings aren’t commitments, Castiel, don’t be a fool.”

"I've already been five years a fool.”

"Then one more night won’t matter.”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand while taking the phone away from his ear with the other, letting it drop to his shoulder as he takes a deep, calming breath. It’s going to rain tonight, and he neglected to bring an umbrella, so if he doesn’t want to show up looking like a drowned cat he should probably accept. He counts to five before picking it the receiver again. "Fine."

"Was that so ha..." Cas slams the phone back into the cradle, cutting him off, but the satisfaction it brings is short-lived. He leans on the desk and puts his head in his hands, but soon enough hears two sharp raps on the doorframe followed by the sound of footsteps. He groans, refusing to look up.

"What?"

"Why thank you, Meg, for picking up my suits from the dry cleaners. You've always been the best assistant. So thoughtful." He raises his head, watching her come into his office and hang the garment bag on a hook behind the door. "It's almost like you knew I would forget. Again."

"Yes, you're very adept at guessing my utterly predictable behavior."

She turns to give him a wry look, hand on one hip. "Maybe if you weren't such a nice guy you'd be less predictable." She drapes herself over one of the stiff-backed chairs across from his desk with an ease at odds with the sharp lines of her suit, hooking a leg over one of the arms as though they were in a campus coffee shop instead of his office. A different boss would probably be appalled at her casual attitude, but Cas has always appreciated her ability to be herself no matter the surroundings. She gestures to him with her chin. "What's wrong with you?"

"Meg..."

"You can't lie to me, Clarence. I can tell that you're troubled whenever those cool blue eyes look like a stormy sea."

He groans, dropping his head onto his crossed arms. 

"You don’t want to know."

"Trouble in paradise?" 

"What makes you say that?" He lifts his head, and she studies him for a moment, slowly rotating her ankle, as though her high heeled boot is a weapon that she's casually loading. 

"You have that 'my boyfriend is the personification of his name' face. You’ve had it for days, actually, and I’m concerned not only because we’re buddies, but because I hate him from the very bottom of my black soul. So. Why don’t you just tell me what he did?”

“Because it’s _mortifying_.”

“When are you going to make all my dreams come true and dump his bony ass?"

"Really, Meg, you should dream bigger."

"I do, but you get all frowny face when I talk about having him humiliated in public before he accidentally falls down an empty elevator shaft." 

"Why have you always hated him so much?"

"Because he's not good enough for you," she says slowly, pausing between each word to make sure her point comes across.

"Meg, your devotion to me is touching, but it will never make me any less gay. I’m sorry."

"You should be so lucky," she purrs, raising an eyebrow at him, and he can't help but laugh. "But I'm serious. You don't see yourself clearly, so believe me when I say that you're like a shining, sparkly unicorn compared to the rest of us, and he's not worthy enough to ride you." 

"You did not just..."

"I did."

She smirks at him, and before he can check himself he blurts out. "I didn’t even enjoy sex with him."

"You mean just last night or..."

"I mean ever."

"And you're still with him... _why_?"

"I'm not, actually. Since the wee hours of last Friday morning."

"So dreams do come true!” She fist pumps the air. “Tell me everything, starting with why it took you nearly a week to give me this precious nugget of information."

"I've been too busy looking for a new place to live, honestly.”

“Oh my. You’re definitely serious. No wonder you look like you haven’t slept for days.”

“Well, avoiding him both at work and at home has been exhausting."

“I can imagine. I need all the details."

He rubs his face with both hands. "I will need comfort food and a drink to have this conversation."

"Emotional bandage, got it. Without knowing the cause of your issue, I can only treat the symptoms. Nurse Meg recommends burritos and beer for lunch, just the kind of repast Dick would hate. You’re paying."

Castiel glares at her, but she just smiles in return as she leaves his office. "Thank you, Meg, for your wisdom and clarity," she calls over her shoulder as she exits.

"I hate you," he shouts after her.

"No you don't," she sing-songs in return, and he can't help but crack a brief smile.

***

Three hours later Cas groans with satisfaction as he takes a bite of California burrito.

"How did I spend so many years with someone who hates everything I love?" he muses, staring at the burrito in his hands as though it were the number forty-two.

"That's a good question, handsome. Want me to ruin his reputation? I'll make sure that everyone in the office knows exactly why you've broken up. I won't even have to invent anything salacious, merely tell the truth."

"Gossip is much quicker than sending a company-wide memo, I guess." 

"Discussion of personal matters in those is frowned upon anyway. Give me one day and the entire building will be whispering about how you came home in the middle of the night to find a naked twink in your shower."

Cas suddenly pictures his co-workers standing around the office, whispering to each other in small groups that fall silent when he walks by, only to erupt in fervent chatter once he’s a few feet away again. The object of pity as much as Dick would be one of ridicule. He shudders at the thought.

"Let's be realistic. It will probably help him get promoted if everyone finds out his name is a literal description of his character."

"Ugh, spare me the thought of Dickless as a partner."

Cas shakes his head. "I can't stop thinking about how stupid I was. It seems so obvious now that I’ve been unhappy for a long time, but I did nothing about it until I was forced to."

"Hey, don't be like that. Everybody has at least one really bad relationship that they have no idea how they got into, much less stayed in. You’re still socially stupid when you're coming out of college, even if it’s grad school."

"And here I thought I’d improved so much during those years.”

"Clarence, people living in a campus environment learn how to cope with things because they have to, because like it or not you’re all going to be stuck with each other for several years. It’s natural to do the same with a relationship. There were probably a lot of things that bothered you, but you figured you could live with them and just went along for the ride."

“Maybe.” He chews at his lower lip. “Want to hear the worst part?”

“You bet I do.”

"I’m starting to think that I never actually loved him." The thought has been tickling at the back of his mind for days, and now that he's said it out loud he's sure it must be true. "I can’t ever remember a time when I looked at him and felt, I don’t know, _compelled_. The way you might be drawn to a person you see across the room, or find yourself enmeshed in a conversation that you never want to end. You know what I mean?”

“I didn’t realize you were hiding such a romantic streak in there, Clarence.”

“Maybe it was so disappointed with me that it went into hibernation. I remember feeling like that before, long ago.” 

_Kiss me again. Like you mean it._

“Is that so.” Meg leans on the table, peering at him. “With who?”

“Just generally,” he lies, hoping the flush he can feel at his neck isn’t showing above his collar. “But certainly never with Dick. I started dating him because he was interested, and then I stayed because it was...convenient.” He sighs, crumpling up the remains of his napkin. “Do you think that makes me a terrible person?"

"Nope, because I'm sure he never loved you, either."

"That's...comforting?"

"Would you rather believe he did, but brought strange men home behind your back anyway?" 

"No.” He chases wayward bits of lettuce and cheese around on his plate with a fork. “How many do you think there were?"

"In the two years that you've been living together or since the beginning? Because either one is gonna take some math."

"Never mind, I don't think I want to know. I still haven't gotten the second set of test results back."

"I’m sorry,” she says, and for once her face is as sincere as her words. “I know you’ll feel better when you do. If nothing else, you at least had enough decency not to run around behind his back.”

“I guess,” he says glumly. 

“Okay, enough of being a sad sack.” She straightens up, rubbing her hands together. “Let's focus on the positive aspects. You won't have to spend this Christmas with Dick and his terrible family."

"That is a blessing for sure. I’m even looking forward to being alone, watching cheesy holiday movies on Netflix."

"Maybe there will be another _Christmas Prince_ movie this year, and you won't have to stay up late to watch it in secret while you text me your reactions."

"Maybe by then I’ll have a new place and you can come over to watch, and I can drink as much cheap, manufactured hot chocolate as I damn well please."

"I never understood his problem with that anyway.”

“Dick has an ingrained distaste for anything that can be bought in the average convenience store. You should have seen his face this one time when I came home with a Slurpee.”

“But how can he hate _Swiss Miss?_ I thought rich people loved the Swiss.” He bursts out laughing at that, and she grins. “You should keep some at the office now. You can drink it whenever you're forced into the same room together, I bet just the smell of it will make his nostrils curl."

"How did you become so devious? It's like a gift."

"Years and years of training that other people call childhood." The waiter brings them fresh drinks, and Meg clinks his glass with hers. "It’s too bad you can’t get shit-faced at the client dinner tonight. Really mortify him in public.”

"It's tempting," he says, running the pad of his thumb down the side of the glass, creating a line where the frost melts from the touch of his skin. "It’s also tempting to just quit my job so that I don’t have to continue interacting with him for professional reasons." He sighs. “It’s probably at one of those restaurants Dick likes so much, where everything is deconstructed in a three hour artistic presentation and dessert is a giant bubble of air that you consume with a straw.” He frowns at the scraps of lettuce and bits of cheese still littering his plate. “Maybe I should have another burrito, since I’m probably not eating anything of substance tonight.”

"Client suggested the venue," Meg says with a glint in her eye. "You know that upscale micropub that you've wanted to go to for ages?"

He slumps against the back of the booth, stunned. “I’ve been obsessed with that place since it opened, but Dick never wanted to go there, it’s the kind of thing he _hates_. The fare is high end comfort food, and they suggest pairings with their own brews, and...”

“You still go online to look at their menu every week, don’t you?”

“Not _every_ week,” he says, and she laughs. “But the last time I checked there was a side dish of white cheddar mac and cheese. With truffle oil.” 

“Did you just let out a dreamy sigh? It’s so cute how excited you get over food.”

“Because my life is joyless, and food is always there for me.” 

“Apparently the client is a regular there, so you should ask what they recommend."

"Are you telling me to curry favor?"

Meg puts her hand to her chest as if scandalized. "I would never tell you to do anything that goes against your nature, boss. I'm simply suggesting you be yourself out loud and in the general direction of a specific person at the table with whom you share a mutual interest. If it happens to ingratiate you with that person while simultaneously needling another member of your party, well, then that's just a bonus."

***

It’s the end of the day when the visitor Cas has been dreading strolls into his office.

"Castiel," Dick croons, as though he expects to be welcomed. "It’s almost time to go.”

"You don’t need to wait for me,” he mutters, scribbling furiously on the legal pad beside him to look as busy as possible. “I can take a cab." 

"Don’t be petulant. I'm doing my level best to be civil to you, given the situation you've put us in..."

"You mean that _you've_ put us in."

"I'm simply offering to give you a lift to a place we're both going, and then take you to the home we still share afterwards. You can simply take it for the kind gesture it is, or not."

"It's strange how you're going out of your way to be nice to me now that it's too late." 

"Maybe I'm trying to make amends in my own small way." 

He clenches the pen in his fist and breathes out through his nose. “I’m not finished here yet.”

“Take a few minutes,” Dick croons, the picture of generosity, and Cas considers whether or not the pen in his hand has sufficient weight to pierce a skull when forcefully thrown. He decides it doesn’t. “I’ll meet you by the elevators at six, sharp.” Dick passes Meg on his way out, not even giving her a passing glance as she shoots daggers into his back with her eyes.

"What was that?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. 

"He insists on giving me a lift to the restaurant, since I took the train in today.”

“It's what, a fifteen minute drive from here?" 

"And at least twice that to get home afterwards."

"No problem. Just be as cold and surly as possible the whole time. Make him regret asking in the first place.”

“Hmm. That alone is probably worth it.”

"Think of it as a small, early investment towards the larger payoff of getting him to leave you the fuck alone." 

"I hate that this plan has merit."

"You just hate when I'm right."

***

Cas purposefully waits until several minutes past six before leaving his office, heading to the bank of elevators at a leisurely stroll. Dick seems calm to the untrained eye, but years of observation tell Cas he's actually seething with impatience. Not long ago Cas would have felt guilty for putting him in such a state, but he’s quickly learned to enjoy the shallow pettiness of microaggression, and he slows his pace just a tiny bit more once Dick catches sight of him. The way Dick hits the elevator call button -- firmly, for a much longer period than necessary -- is the equivalent of another person jabbing it repeatedly, and Cas has to bite the inside of his cheek. The car that arrives has several other people in it already, a small mercy. They shuffle on, and when Dick presses the already lit button for the parking garage it takes everything Cas has to keep his features stoic, unaffected.

He follows Dick to the pretentious Lexus he always parks in the corner farthest from the elevator, slanted into two spaces so 'no one will scratch it'. Cas used to offer to drive them places because he was far less precious about his own humble Ford getting dinged, but either Dick has a power trip about driving or he won’t let his precious ass ride in such a humble vehicle, so Cas eventually gave up. He tacks this onto his mental list of ‘Things I’ve Acquiesced to In Order to Accommodate Dick’ ( _literally_ , he can hear Meg say in his head). There are twenty-one items on it so far, and he’s barely begun. There should be a companion list of things Dick gave into for _his_ comfort, so out of fairness he will absolutely start one -- as soon as he thinks of a single item to add to it.

"Are you listening to me?" Dick snaps, and clearly he hasn't been, since he zoned out as soon as he slid into the leather passenger seat. 

"I can't imagine you were saying anything I wanted to hear, so no." They emerge onto the street, and Cas is pleased that it's already raining. Dick hates getting his hair wet. "Do you know where you're going?"

"Yes, Castiel, I know how to find the restaurant with the address right in the name,” he scoffs, tone laced with contempt. “It's so _pedestrian_. I can't imagine why we're going _there_." Clearly Dick doesn't know the client chose the venue, or he would have done extensive research about it in order to impress. Cas quickly takes out his phone to make himself a note: _get Meg a gift. Scotch?_ Dick glances over at him and sneers. "I told you I don't need directions." 

"And I'm not giving you any," Cas says smoothly, pocketing his phone and resuming his study of the passing city streets. He says nothing when Dick passes the turn they should make, since their destination is on a one-way street. Dick has either forgotten or doesn’t actually know which direction the street goes. Cas surreptitiously looks at the dashboard clock to note the time, making himself a bet that Dick will blame _him_ for not pointing this out in six minutes. 

It takes nine because Cas forgets to take traffic into consideration. 

It’s still raining slightly when they walk through the front door of _Sixty-Seven on 76th_ , the fine mist of it making the sidewalks glisten. Cas checks his reflection in the door glass, combing his fingers through his hair to dislodge the drops clinging to it. Dick makes a tutting sound as he folds up the travel umbrella he felt necessary to deploy just to cross the street from the parking garage. "You look positively disheveled, you should go freshen up."

"You're right, I should. I'll head right to the bar after coat check and get a drink immediately."

"Castiel," Dick says in his faux fondly exasperated tone, but Cas ignores him to smile at the young lady behind the coat check counter. 

"We're with the Adler party?" 

"Wonderful, sir. Not everyone is here yet, so you have time to stop in the bar first if you wish." She gestures to her left and glances in Dick's direction for a moment before turning her level gaze back at Cas with a small smile. "Your party will be at the large table in the back if you want to head that way once you’ve...freshened up.”

Cas steals a peek at her nametag as he hands her his trench coat in exchange for a numbered ticket, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Thank you, Gilda, I’ll do that." He doesn’t wait for Dick to hand over his own stylish and expensive wool duster, yet he unfortunately manages to catch up as Cas heads for the bar. It’s fairly crowded despite being a weeknight, and Dick rudely elbows his way between a few people to lean on the bartop as Cas hangs back, glaring at the back of his head. He notes with some satisfaction that the hair seems to be thinning at the top of his pate.

"What can I get you, sir?" 

"A Gibson for me," Dick says. "Castiel?"

Cas wants to glare at Dick for still not knowing what he likes to drink after all this time, but it's just more evidence that only one of them was actually invested in their relationship, though he certainly doesn’t need any more. Maybe he should start another list out of spite called ‘Things You Should Know About Your Significant Other After Five Years Together, You Absolute Prick’ but then...

"Castiel?" The bartender says quietly, as though prompting him. He orders a beer without taking his eyes off Dick's face, just so he can catch the judgement there. Dick hates when he drinks beer. _It's so blue collar, Castiel._

"I'm sorry, but...Castiel _Novak?_ From Carver High?" 

It's only then that Cas actually looks at the man standing on the other side of the bartop, and his heart drops into his stomach. The bartender is very handsome, about the same age as he is, with short brown hair and a charming smile that starts to fade the longer they stare at one another. "You, uh, you probably don't remember me." 

"You're Dean." He most definitely remembers, and with that memory comes a flush of secret shame. "Dean Winchester, right?"

"Yeah, man, how've you been?" The smile returns, wide and genuine as Dean busies himself pulling the tap to fill a pint glass with dark gold liquid, perfectly topped with just the right amount of foam. "I haven't seen you in, jeez, over a decade at least, right?" 

"Fourteen years, yes. Since...graduation." Or more specifically at a party later that night -- but he thinks that information is best kept to himself.

_I can't see you, but I know you're there._

"Castiel." Dick startles him with a hand on his bicep, gripping his arm tightly, and it takes everything Cas has not to shudder. "We should go meet the rest of our party."

Dean's eyes flicker from Castiel's face, to the hand, to Dick, and then back. "Can we...can we catch up later? I'll be here until close." 

"Of course,” Cas says automatically, his curiosity too piqued to give a different answer, despite the distinct feeling that he doesn’t deserve that kind of attention. 

“I’d like that.” Dean glances at the hand on his arm before giving Cas a smile, genuine and warm. It’s unlike the one that he remembers from their youth, the one that often seemed staged but always affected him nonetheless. “It’s really great to see you again, Cas.” 

“You too, Dean.” He lets himself be pulled along, not because he wants Dick to get his way, but because he needs a few minutes to collect himself. Dean Winchester, flesh and blood and right here in the very same place. The last time they'd been in the same room together Dean had been wearing a blindfold and a cocky smile. 

_Show me what you've got._

"Who was that, Castiel?" Dick's voice is cold, judgemental, and in that moment Cas regrets absolutely nothing that brought them to the place they are now. He yanks his arm away. 

"Someone I went to high school with, obviously." _Someone I only ever watched from a distance._ "We graduated the same year, but moved in different circles." _Someone I always wished would see me._ "I didn't think he even knew my name." _Someone I took advantage of when I shouldn’t have._

"Clearly he did," Dick says suspiciously, and Cas shrugs with an unaffected air, amazed that he can manage it. 

"I can't see why it should matter to you. We’re nothing to each other anymore." 

"Keep your voice down, Castiel." He barely moves his lips as he talks. Apt, for someone who's been talking out of a false face for years. "It would be unseemly to air our personal drama in public."

Cas clenches his jaw and inhales through his nose, taking a moment to center himself, wishing for the sanctuary of Meg's smug smile and the daggers in her eyes. He glances back just long enough to catch sight of Dean Winchester through the crowd, busy filling someone else's drink order but clearly watching them.

_Please._

That long forgotten pang of guilt moves through him again, and he turns away. 

***

_Fourteen Years Ago_

"Why did you make me come here? I hate _all_ of these people."

"After tonight you'll never have to see any of them again. Isn't that alone something worth celebrating?" Bal shoves a cup into his hand, ribbed red plastic exterior and white interior, half-filled with golden beer and flecked with foam around the edges. "Here, take this, you're going to college soon and it's high time you learned."

Cas sighs as he raises the cup to take a dutiful sip, then chews on the rolled edge as he glances around glumly. Most of Carver High's graduating class is packed into this large house, the open floor plan of the downstairs crammed with bodies that ripple and move like waves around the furniture. He's standing in the corner of the den by a fireplace that holds decorative white pillar candles instead of wood, and spent the minutes waiting for Bal to return wondering if he could fit into the chimney to escape, and if anyone would notice. Another two minutes and he would have risked it. 

"Whose house are we even in?" Cas asks, voice raised to be heard over the dance music that seems to be coming from the very walls.

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

His eyes rove over the crowd, most of the faces familiar from seeing them in the same hallway day after day even if he can't attach a name to them, the anonymous students that make up the crowd scene of any high school party. Suddenly he catches sight of a group he _does_ know crowded by the staircase. In the hallways at school they were always easy to spot, travelling in a pack of matching green jackets with a giant yellow "C" on the back. He knows them because _everyone_ knows them, the shining gems of the Carver crown. Even Cas, who's spent the last four years mastering the art of invisibility, can't fail to notice them. 

They're clustered together like wolves on a hunt, if prey approached of its own accord with a shy smile and a giggle. Gordon and Crowley hang over the banister chatting with the passersby, and he spies Vic and Alastair before noticing someone in particular lounging against the steps as casually as if he were in a hammock. Cas freezes when those eyes move in his direction and then keep going, passing over him easily, as if he really were invisible. Relief and disappointment swirl through him, and he squeezes the cup in his hand hard enough for it to audibly crinkle over the music.

"What?" Bal says, leaning closer to peer in the same direction. "Oh, of course you'd be able to spot _him_ in a crowd."

"There are people everywhere, how do you know who I'm even looking at?"

"Because despite the many times I've made you attend my lecture series _The Inadvisability of Falling for Straight Guys_ , I still catch you swooning every time the bow-legged boy wonder makes an appearance." 

"It's not like I wanted to fall for him," Cas says with a defeated sigh. "I swear I hated him last year."

He remembers vividly the very first day he’d noticed that boy for the first time, strolling into US History after the last bell rang and surveying the room, looking for an empty seat. There were only two, one in front of Cas and one beside him, the unspoken 'weirdo' barrier that his classmates had begun to impose on him freshman year, at first to his chagrin and then to his relief. Dean must have made his choice based on who occupied the other side of those vacant chairs, because he slid effortlessly into the empty desk next to Cas with a wink at the redhead ahead of it and nary a glance in his direction. Exactly the same scenario played out in his afternoon English class, except with a brunette this time. 

Yes, he'd hated Dean Winchester on sight, with his confident swagger and endless supply of charm -- two things that did not diminish in the slightest no matter how much Cas glared at him when he made a sassy remark or whispered to his other neighbors. Every time Dean leaned his desk forward on its front feet to chat with a girl, every time he threw his arm around a girl’s shoulders, every flirtatious remark that Cas overheard -- they were like building blocks in a wall of salt. 

He doesn’t know exactly when the wall crumbled, but it happened so gradually that it was gone before Cas noticed that it was being slowly dissolved by tiny droplets of unexpected gestures. The way Dean would discuss things in class as though he’d definitely done the reading and understood the topic, or how he spent his Saturdays helping to coach little kids’ wrestling or baseball, and all the times Cas would see him in the county library on a Sunday with his younger brother. Cas had been doing research for a term paper there one afternoon and spotted them through the stacks -- not a new occurrence by this point -- when he saw Dean check his watch, then reach into his backpack to pull out a bottle of water and a sandwich. He’d tapped Sam on the arm to get his attention before handing him both items, then reached over to ruffle his hair and smile with disarming fondness. Cas found himself clutching his heart and wondering when the hell he’d fallen head over heels for Dean Winchester.

“Hated him?” Balthazar muses, drawing him out of his reverie. “Yes, well, that's the natural conclusion for a baby gay who doesn't understand their feelings.”

"One, you’re eighteen years old, stop talking like a world weary queen. Two, I don’t have feelings.”

"Fine, no emotional attachment. So it’s lust, then? Excellent, I've just won five bucks." 

"From who?" 

"Myself, of course. I don't talk about your business with other people, what kind of friend do you think I am?" Bal puts a hand to his chest in a show of faux outrage, so Cas chews the lip of his cup and says nothing. "Why don't you at least go and talk to him? You'll never get another chance, and maybe all it will take to get rid of your crush is five minutes of dull-witted conversation."

"He’s not dull-witted,” Cas defends. He’s never actually talked to Dean directly, not even in class, but he’s listened to him plenty. “Besides, I don’t know what we’d even talk about."

"You've been obsessed with him for ages, surely you must know something he's interested in." 

"Yes, but…”

“Buuuuuut…”

“I don't know _anything_ about the types of things he likes,” he huffs in exasperation. “I'm ignorant about cars, I don't know anything about sports, and I definitely can't talk to him about..."

He trails off as Cassie -- editor of the student newspaper, president of the National Honor Society, and this year’s prom queen -- approaches the stairs and sits right in Dean's lap, his arms coming up automatically to cradle her as she wraps her own around his neck and plants a sound kiss on his cheek. 

"Girls." Cas finishes with a defeated sigh, remembering that Dean dated not only her, but every member of her court at some point or another.

"You are pathetic."

"I am indeed pathetic," he grumbles into his cup before taking a long swallow. "I am also in dire need of more refreshment."

"That's the spirit."


	2. All our problems

“All the answers to all our problems lie within the one who tries to dodge them.” - _Splintered_ , **Aisha Badru**

***

"What's the matter with you?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean pours two more glasses of white wine and hands them over, smiling at the man who leaves a couple dollars for tip. He glances towards the back of the restaurant for the fifth time. 

"That," Charlie says as she deftly makes a cocktail. "Why do you keep staring after that guy you were talking to?"

"I just haven't seen him in a long time, that's all. He was in my graduating class." 

“What, they don’t have reunions where you come from?”

“Sure they do, I just don’t go.” He doesn’t like to remember what he was like back then, and certainly doesn’t want to reminisce about it with people he’d rather never see again. Though he thinks he’ll make an exception for Cas.

_Cas_. He looks a thousand times better in the flesh than he does in Dean’s memories, and he recalls those vividly and often. He's spent a lot of time over the years kicking himself for his inexperience, his indecision, his ignorance. Every game he’s ever played of _what if_ either starts or ends with Cas Novak, the path not taken.

"So?" Charlie elbows him out of his reverie. "Is he an old crush?"

“I guess.”

“Were there so many that you can’t remember, or…?”

“Does it really count as a crush if you were so deeply in denial you used all your power to pretend otherwise?” He winces at Charlie’s quizzical look. "You ever think back to how dumb you were in high school?"

"I try not to. There was a _Twilight_ phase, and I shudder to remember it."

“Team Jacob?”

“I wasn’t _that_ dumb. Team Alice.”

“Of course.” He turns away to wipe down the bar, because suddenly he can’t look at her. “I was your stereotypical jock back then, complete with varsity letters in three different sports. All my free time was spent going to parties and drinking, and my hobby was making my way through every available cheerleader like they were worth points.”

“Just for the record, I know that the jealousy I’m feeling right now is inappropriate. Please continue.”

"Yeah, well. Back then I barely knew him at all, and...I never tried to either. There were hundreds of kids in our school, so I didn’t even notice him until sophomore year, and once I had I couldn’t stop. It was like he was everywhere. I used to think it was his eyes, that I’d only noticed him because they were so blue.”

"Uh-huh," Charlie says, giving him a knowing grin. 

“Shut up. Not all of us know what we are out of the womb, you know.”

“Don’t be silly, I was probably at least six before I actually knew anything for sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, we finally got classes together junior year. I chose a seat next to him in every one, just hoping he’d talk to me first, because I could never think of anything to say.”

“What, so smooth with the ladies and you couldn’t get your act together in the face of one blue-eyed boy? I bet your picture is next to ‘disaster bi’ on Urban Dictionary.”

“No doubt. The denial was strong, too. One day the teacher was making us read aloud by turns. He was before me, but when it was my turn I realized I had no idea where to pick up. I hadn’t heard a single word he said because I couldn’t stop staring at his lips, idly thinking about taking the book out of his hands to kiss him, right there in the middle of class. I panicked.”

“Tell me you didn’t turn into one of those assholes who went out of their way to prove their het cred.”

His shoulders slump. “Stereotype, remember?”

“Oh, Dean.”

“I would catch myself looking in his direction sometimes, and freak out wondering if anybody noticed. Then I’d go out of my way to do some bullshit to offset that possibility, like pulling a girl into the janitor’s closet to make out.”

“Jesus, you never told me any of that.”

“Because it’s _mortifying_. I had a thing for him for years, and do you know when I finally got up the courage to make a move?”

"When?”

"About two weeks after graduation."

"What?" She practically shrieks, and Dean has to gesture for her to keep her voice down, although it seems like there's enough chatter that no one has noticed. "That poor boy! I hope he rejected you outright.”

Dean’s throat seizes up at that, and though he coughs to clear it he can't actually form the words to answer her. He just shakes his head, darting another glance in the direction where Cas went, but whatever table he's sitting at can’t be seen from this vantage point. He looks so much like what Dean remembers -- only sharper now, like letters on an eye chart that suddenly come into crisp, clear focus with the right lens. His hair is a little shorter than it was in high school, artfully tousled now instead of tangled, and his jaw sports a fine stubble that is definitely not present in Dean’s memories. He clenches his teeth thinking about how that other man had grabbed Cas by the arm, possessive, like he expected to be allowed. 

Charlie looks at him with sharp eyes that turn sad, and she deflates a little. "You never told him, did you?” 

“I wanted to but, well.” He turns away from her to move beer around in the coolers. "He was long gone by the time I got up the nerve. Apparently he left the day after graduation for some summer internship, hundreds of miles away. I never saw him again."

"Until now.”

He sighs, shoulders sagging, hands deep in the ice, letting the cold cut through him like a punishment for an old transgression. "I was so stupid."

"You were young. Those things kind of go together."

"Yeah," he says gruffly. "I was kind of a macho dickhead in school, you know how jocks are. Everyone out to prove they're the most hetero alpha of the bunch. I was terrified that my friends would realize something was up with me, and a couple of them might not have cared, but…”

“A couple of them would be assholes about it.”

“Yeah, like. Crowley was openly bi, and they would tease him about it constantly. It never seemed to bother him, and he always had some kind of witty retort, but I couldn’t see myself putting up with that all the time. And the shit they said about him behind his back...I didn’t want to think they might say those things about me, too.”

“I can see why you didn’t muster the courage until after school was out.”

“Yeah, I guess.” It’s not entirely the reason, but he doesn’t want to tell Charlie about that. It’s something he’s never shared with anyone, something far too intimate to explain. “God, sometimes I had to work so hard to pretend he wasn't in the room, but at the same time I just...I wanted him to _look_ at me.”

Charlie gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm. 

"You missed out on a lot of the learning curve during those years, my man."

"Well, at least once I got to college I was pretty open to the idea of experimentation."

"I bet you had a lot of lab partners for that."

"A few," he says, grinning, and she rolls her eyes. "I didn't stop thinking about him for a long, long time though. He was my big bi revelation, and he probably never gave me another thought after school was done. In fact, he’s probably sitting at his table remembering exactly what an ass I used to be."

"It’s been over a decade, I'm sure he's intelligent enough to realize you're probably not the same guy."

"Right," he mutters even as he cringes internally, wondering just how he must have looked to Cas all those years ago. 

"Well, I have a feeling that you'll definitely get a chance to talk to him again this evening, maybe even catch up a little. I wouldn't drop the entire dramatic sexual awakening conversation in his lap tonight, though. That's like, a third date conversation."

"Pretty sure there aren't any dates in our future, Charlie. Didn't you see Mr. Tall-Expensive-Suit-and-Lordly-Attitude with him?"

"Is that what Tesla actually stands for? Huh. Makes a lot of sense. Do you think that douchebag drives one? Because that would be hilarious."

"Charlie." He crosses his arms and stares her down, and she shrugs.

"You only see obstacles, but I see opportunities. Such as the _opportunity_ currently walking right this way with an empty glass and a determined expression."

"What?"

"Don't look!" She grabs his elbow, staring at him intently. "He could have gotten a refill from the waiter, but he's coming here instead."

"Why?"

Charlie gives him a look that says she'd dope slap him if she wasn't trying to play it cool. "He must want to talk to you. So take the opportunity." 

He nods, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as he feels, then starts rearranging glasses as he takes steadying breaths. He sees Cas approaching in his peripheral vision, and by the time he reaches the barfront Dean feels somewhat calmer, raising his head with what he hopes is a charming smile.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas, hey. More of the same?"

"Please. I'm pretending to go to the bathroom so that I can get another beer in secret, otherwise I'm never going to get through the rest of this evening."

It catches him off guard and he can't help but laugh, which causes Cas to smile wide and Dean's heart to stutter a bit at the sight of it. 

"I guess it must be business and not pleasure, then." He takes the dirty glass away and grabs a fresh one, deftly filling it just as before and placing it on the bartop, whisking away the five dollar bill Cas puts down and swapping it for a single in change. Cas takes a long, grateful swallow, then licks the flecks of foam from his upper lip. Dean catches himself licking his own lips, turning away to grab a towel and hoping Cas didn't notice.

"You guessed right, it’s a business dinner. Otherwise I’d never be out in public with any of those people."

"Even your boyfriend?" It comes out before he can think about it, and he fights the desperate urge to slap himself. "Sorry, that was, uh. Several levels of presumption too many, sorry."

"No, it's, it's okay." Cas gets that look that most patrons adopt when they're about to dump all their troubles in his lap, _in vino veritas_ at the local confessional bar, but then he straightens up and shakes his head. "That was very perceptive of you, but he's actually my ex-boyfriend, now." 

"Oh?" He curses himself for the definite interest that one little word reveals, but can't help but do internal cartwheels of glee. Then he reminds himself that he is _not_ elated to receive this information, because he hasn't seen Cas in ages and is clearly not still hanging on to his far-too-late-and-therefore-unrequited crush because he is a grown man. He simply feels very happy, very suddenly, for no explicit reason. "It seemed like you guys were still together." _From the possessive way he acted_ , he mentally tacks on to the end of that sentence.

"We still work together, so if I'm being honest he's most of the reason I need this beer." He takes another sip, and Dean hesitates just long enough to ask himself if Sam would approve. He decides he wouldn't - _it’s none of your business, Dean_ \- and proceeds anyway.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I, um." Cas seems nervous now, glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't take this the wrong way, but why would you care?" 

Dean sighs, glancing over his shoulder at Charlie who is doing a terrible job pretending not to listen to this whole conversation.

"Look, Cas. I know this is the first time we've seen each other in ages, and we weren't even friends then, but..." 

"Uh-oh," Charlie says, interrupting with a hiss. "Incoming."

"Castiel," says the man he came in with before, creeping up behind him like some kind of predatory animal. Dean decides that he strongly dislikes this person, connection to Cas notwithstanding. "I didn't realize the bar was en route back from the bathroom." Dean sees the way Cas's face changes at the tone of the guy's voice, and his dislike kicks up several notches. "Ms. MacLeod has finally arrived, come along." The man grabs Cas by the arm, pulling him away from his unfinished pint like he's a child, and Dean has to clench his fists to not intervene. Cas turns back just once and mouths _later_ , and Dean nods, relieved when Cas shakes the guy off and moves ahead of him.

***

"It's unseemly of you to leave your colleagues at the table while you escape to flirt with the handsome bartender, _Castiel_."

"If you consider politely talking to someone 'flirting' I wonder how you manage to navigate the world without being slapped on a regular basis. Unless you _do_ get slapped, which I would like to hear about in considerable detail once we get home if so."

“Why are you acting like this? This isn’t like you.” 

“Oh, I assure you, it's very much like me. It's just that it's only evident with people I don't like, which now happens to include you."

Dick is seething through his teeth, though his polite smile remains firmly in place as they approach their table.

"Adler has already ordered some appetizers for us," Rachel says when they arrive, giving them both an odd look that Dick ignores.

"That was thoughtful of him." Dick smoothes down his tie as he takes his seat, stiff and upright as though he's appearing before the court. Cas snags something off the closest plate and puts it in his mouth, knowing Dick thinks finger foods are unsanitary. It feels liberating, finding all the small ways to antagonize him right out in the open, when he can't do anything about it. _Even petty revenge is still revenge_ , he thinks as he chews the mushroom cap and then deliberately licks his fingers, hoping that Dick is internally grimacing beside him.

"Ms. MacLeod," Cas says, leaning into Dick's space to speak to the striking redhead on his other side. "I apologize, I was at the bar when you arrived. I'm Cas Novak."

"My, they were definitely saving the best for last." The lilt of her Scottish accent is both shocking and enticing. She has a smile as sensual as a siren and as savage as a shark. He likes her immediately.

"Tell me," he says loudly as he opens his menu. "What would you recommend? I've always wanted to dine here but this is my first visit."

"I hardly think a woman of Ms. MacLeod's refined tastes would have a suggestion for an establishment like this," Dick says dismissively, the sneer evident in his voice if not on his face.

"Since she chose the restaurant," Cas says levelly, catching the flinch on Dick's face that is probably imperceptible to everyone else, "I would imagine it's a great favorite of hers." 

"Oh, aye, I'm here frequently." She gives Dick a withering look. "Shows how much you know. I may look like a delicate, wee flower, but I've a hearty appetite and I like a good, strong ale as much as anyone."

"My apologies, I…”

"Besides, the boys that run the place are as handsome as they are charming," Ms. MacLeod continues, leaning over Dick's lap to speak to Cas. "I am quite partial to the Cajun Ribeye if you like a bit of bite."

"Sounds wonderful, I'll look at that Ms. MacLeod, thank you."

"Call me Rowena, please. In fact, why don't you switch seats with, hm, what's your name dear? Oh, no mind. Switch with young Novak here, so I can talk to him properly." Dick's ears are bright red as he gets up from his chair, and Cas moves over with no small amount of glee. 

***

When the check finally arrives Adler sweeps it off the table with a flamboyant gesture, as though he's paying for all of them out of his own pocket and the goodness of his heart, instead of with the company credit card that is the sole reason he ordered top shelf liquor for himself all night. Cas breathes a sigh of relief that the end of this dinner is finally in sight. He's enjoyed getting to know Rowena -- she may well be the most fascinating person he's ever met -- but his thoughts keep drifting back to the unfinished business currently tending bar. 

"Do you need a lift, Ms. MacLeod?" Dick says, inserting himself between her and Cas as they all rise from the table, but she waves him off.

"No need, Dirk, one of the staff will have already messaged my driver, he should be waiting out front."

"It's Dick."

Rowena blinks up at him. "Of course it is."

"Allow me to walk you out to your car," Cas says, holding out an arm that she takes with a flirtatious smile, hooking her elbow through his and patting his bicep with her other hand. 

"You're quite charming with the ladies for a man who doesn't desire their company," she says, and he grins. 

"I can still enjoy their company when I'm in it, especially when they're as extraordinary as you are." She laughs brightly, and if he didn't know better he'd think she were at least twenty years younger than her true age. 

"Oh, I will definitely enjoy your company again, young man, mark my words."

They move through the crowded restaurant towards the front entrance, and he can't help but glance in the direction of the bar. Dean is engaged with another customer but he's definitely still there, and Cas makes a decision as he helps Rowena alight into the backseat of the sleek, dark vehicle idling for her at the curb.

"I don't need a lift back," he says to Dick once he returns to the coat check. He can't bring himself to use the word _home_. Their other colleagues drift past him towards the front entrance, heading for their own vehicles or cabs. "I'm going to stay for a while." He turns toward the bar but Dick grabs his arm again, and Cas decides he's getting very tired of that move.

"Castiel," he drawls, and it makes his hackles rise. "Are you sure you don't wish to reconsider?" 

"Reconsider what, exactly?"

"Whether or not you're making a mistake."

Cas scoffs. "Oh, I made a mistake, that's certain."

"I thought so." Dick's tone is full of the smug satisfaction that comes with assured victory, and Cas jerks his arm away.

“Leaving you was the first thing I'd done correctly for years." Dick's face twists into ugly fury, something that he would normally never show in public.

"Don't be a fool. You think someone else can give you anything close to what I can offer? Is that bartender the kind of guy who can get a promotion with a huge bonus and a corner office? I'm going places, Castiel, and you were supposed to come with me."

"I’m not a piece of overhead luggage, you asshole."

"Save me your sanctimonious preaching. We both know the only reason you were with me was for my connections and what they could do for you.”

"What they did was make me wary of every surface in our apartment, given that you probably fucked your connections all over the place.”

Dick stares at him with barely leashed rage, but Cas returns it with sheer defiance that’s emboldened with every passing minute.

"Of course I had to seek out other company after so many years dating you. You're _boring_."

It’s like a dagger of solid ice, piercing through him with a cold that makes him gasp, his worst fear about himself spoken aloud. He's never been skilled at nightlife or socializing, and at first he was attracted to Dick because it was so easy to just follow in his wake, let him take the lead. They went to art exhibits and gallery openings, high-end fundraisers and opening nights. It took two years before he realized that he didn't actually enjoy any of those things, that none of his boyfriend's skill at navigating a room was rubbing off on him, and that most people they interacted with weren't interested in getting to know him any better. His hobbies are about as compelling as his employment, which is to say not at all. Truth be told, he doesn't have any real friends except for Meg, and he pays her salary. Does that mean what Dick says is true?

He shakes his head to clear it.

"I'm sure you'll find another sap to take my place soon enough." He hates the rasp in his voice, the tremble in his clenched fists as he fights to maintain control over himself. It wouldn't do to punch Dick in the face, no matter how much he deserves it. 

Dick just smooths his hair, straightens his lapel, and shoves past Cas without another backward glance. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to let the tension ease out of his body. 

"Sir, are you all right?" He turns, startled, and sees the woman in the coat check booth leaning over the counter, face full of concern. 

"I'm..." he begins, but his throat clogs up and he looks at the ceiling. "I think I definitely need another drink.”

"The bar’s open until eleven, sir," she says kindly, and he nods in thanks as he passes her by. It’s still fairly crowded, and though all the high top tables are occupied he spies several empty seats at the far end of the bar itself. He slides into the middle one, noting that Dean and his coworker are both occupied, and for a brief moment he reconsiders.

_Maybe this is a mistake_. 

He's about to flee, call a cab and just head home, when Dean glances over and catches his eye, a smile blooming on his features like a candlewick catching fire in a dark room. 

"Hey, Cas,” he says when he’s close enough, and his eyes squint in concern. “Dinner must have been worse than I thought. You okay?"

He opens his mouth to answer that yes, of course he is, but stops himself. He's spent the last five years pretending things he doesn't feel for everyone else's comfort, and he's not doing it anymore.

"Truth be told I'm feeling a bit rattled."

“Well, luckily for you I’ve got just the remedy.” He grins before walking away to pull a pint, placing it before Cas with a flourish. “Doctor Dean recommends three sips every five minutes for whatever ails you.”

A laugh bubbles out of him unbidden, and he grips the cool glass gratefully. “My assistant refers to herself as my nurse before she medicates me with food and drink. You’d make a great team.”

“Or partners in crime,” Dean replies with a wicked grin that Cas had seen turned in the direction of numerous girls, long ago, wishing it were pointed at him instead. 

_So that’s what that feels like_. 

“Suddenly I’m terrified of getting the two of you in the same room.”

“What are you talking about? I’m a boy scout, Cas.” He glances down the bar and adopts a more serious mien, tapping his knuckles on the highly polished wood. “Keep sipping that. I’ll be back, and then you can tell me what ails you.” 

Cas feels a warmth unfurl in his chest, like something long fettered is stretching its wings, and as Dean walks away he feels himself relaxing in a way that he hasn't for years. 

***

It’s difficult to focus on the job when his thoughts keep turning to the man sitting at the far end of the bar, dutifully drinking as instructed given that the level of liquid in his pint glass is steadily diminishing each time Dean glances over. It’s a shock each time to see him still sitting there, and his lips curl helplessly up into a soft smile whenever their eyes meet. Thankfully his hands are moving on autopilot while his mind sifts through a thousand things he wants to ask Cas, though he knows he'll skirt around the most pressing question of all: _Did you hate me back then?_

"Guess what?" Charlie appears at his right elbow, and he vaguely remembers her mentioning the bathroom some time ago before he completely forgot about her. 

"What?" He takes in Charlie's stance, arms akimbo with a face like fire and brimstone. “What’s wrong?”

"I just talked to Gilda."

"Gilda?"

"Yeah, the hostess? In the coat check?"

"The one you made out with on top of all the furs that time?"

"That's not important!" She's exasperated, gesturing with her hands more than usual even though she’s trying to whisper. "Your old crush had a huge fight with that douchebag he came with. She wasn't trying to listen, but they were only feet away.”

"Shit. He said he was rattled, but I haven’t had a chance to ask him why yet."

"Why don't the two of you get out of here? I’ll be fine by myself, it’s starting to taper off.” She elbows him playfully. "Seems like he could use some alone time with a sympathetic ear." 

"Charlie, come on. We barely knew each other and he probably thought I was a dick. I'm sure I'm the last person he'd seek comfort with."

"Or the perfect person, because you don't know anything and he can get it all off his chest to someone who can give him an unbiased opinion." Dean bites his lip, considering. "I bet he could also use a nice, big hug. The kind of hug that ends in smooches."

"Charlie."

"By smooches I mean dick kisses."

" _Charlie_." 

"I will continue to make scandalous insinuations until you leave and take him with you."

"I can't just leave."

"Are you afraid of being _fired_?” 

“You’ve got a point.”

“So get the hell out of my sight."

"But..."

"Dean. You spent the last how many years beating yourself up for not making a move when you had the chance. Make one now, or I'll have to kill you on principle."

“Damn, okay lioness, chill.”

He hands her his towel with a salute before moving to the other end of the bar, pleased to see that Cas has emptied his glass in the last twenty minutes.

“Hey, I’m done for the night. Do you want to go somewhere quiet where we can talk? There's a place up the street that's open late, and they won’t care if we just sit and talk for awhile as long as we order coffee.”

Cas looks hesitant for a moment, but then he smiles slowly and Dean’s breath catches a bit. 

"I just have to get my coat."

“Then I’ll meet you out front.”

Cas nods as he pushes himself up from the stool, and Dean gives Charlie a surreptitious thumbs up, which she answers with finger guns as he ducks into the kitchen. He retrieves his coat from the office and takes the staff entrance out into the dining area, and absolutely does not check his hair in the mirror of the entryway heading outside where Cas waits, illuminated by streetlights in a misty rain.

Dean indicates a direction and they fall into step side by side, arms brushing against one another as they walk, and though they don't speak it's not uncomfortable. They turn left at the corner, and it's not much further until they can see the brightly lit windows of a diner. Dean holds the door open and gestures him in with a flourish, then directs him towards an empty booth along the windows. 

“This is my favorite spot,” he explains. 

“You must come here a lot.”

“We keep trying to get rid of him,” says a middle-aged woman with a stern face who walks up to the table, unceremoniously flipping their coffee cups upright and filling them an inch from the brim with dark, steaming liquid. “But he’s like a bad penny.”

“Don’t listen to Missouri, she gets upset if I stay away from her for too long.” Missouri tries to give him another stern look, but cracks a smile when he pouts at her, slapping him fondly on the shoulder and shaking her head as she walks away. 

Cas wraps his hands around the ceramic mug, watching the steam curling up into the space between them.

"Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, I promise. We can talk about whatever suits you. I was just worried because, well, your ex seems like a dick."

Cas actually laughs out loud at that. "That's apropos."

"Why's that?"

"His name is, in fact, Dick."

"You're kidding me."

"It is a well earned moniker, believe me.” Cas hesitates a moment, staring at the wisps of frail steam leaving his drink as though he’s trying to decipher a hidden message. Whatever he sees there makes him nod to himself, as though accepting whatever truth he divined there. “It only took five years and coming home to a stranger in my shower in the middle of the night for me to accept it." 

" _What?"_

"In the stranger's defense, he was a very nice young man that had no idea I existed. He was quite upset to discover he'd been lied to, and very helpfully explained that he wasn't the first, which is something I probably should have known."

"Come on, Cas, there's no way you could have."

"Maybe not that he was on a steady diet of twinks, no," Cas muses, and Dean nearly spits out the coffee he just took a sip of. _Worth it_ , he thinks when Cas grins briefly before it fades away. "Looking back, it's patently obvious that he never cared about me at all, not even enough to pretend most of the time."

"What an asshole." 

Cas shrugs. "I'm not blameless either. I've spent the last week coming to terms with the fact that I didn’t actually love him -- although I think I tried to, in the beginning."

"Why'd you stay so long, then?"

"I've been wondering that myself." Dean looks at him quizzically, gestures for him to continue. "Well, I dated him at first because no one else was asking, and then I kept dating him because it was convenient, and eventually it was...familiar." He looks thoughtfully into his own coffee cup before methodically adding two packets of sugar and filling it with cream until it’s the color of a doctor’s office. "I told myself he must care enough to invest in a future with me, even if he wasn't overly demonstrative in his affection. I thought maybe once we were living together things would change.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t.” Dean’s desire to lend an ear is warring with his insatiable curiosity about all things Cas Novak, circa 2004-2020. It’s hard not to ask a million questions, but he doesn’t want to turn this into an interrogation.

"Not really, and over two years things only got worse." He stirs the brew, tapping his spoon on the lip of the mug before setting it aside, then taking an experimental sip and nodding in satisfaction in a way that Dean finds endearing. "I think I'd been in that situation for so long that it just felt...normal." He hesitates, looking guilty, like it's too intimate an acknowledgement to an old acquaintance he’s never been friends with. 

"It sounds like you’ve been unhappy for a really long time without realizing it.”

“Do you think that's strange? That you could hide the truth from even yourself for so long?”

"No," Dean says sharply, then clears his throat. "No. I mean, I think we've all been in situations like that to varying degrees. The important thing is acknowledging that it happened, and resolving to learn from your mistakes."

"You sound like a therapist."

Dean laughs lightly. "No, I sound like Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?"

"The redhead that was working the bar with me?"

"Ah.” Cas shifts a bit in the booth. “Is that your girlfriend?" 

_Interesting._ “No, god, no. She’s great and all it’s just...I’m not her type.” Cas tilts his head, squinting a bit, as though he’s trying to parse that information and failing. 

“Has she seen you?”

Dean nearly spits out his coffee in surprise. “Are you teasing me or _flirting_ with me, Cas?” _Please be flirting, please be flirting, please be..._

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been adept at either of those things.”

He sounds resigned and a little sad, and Dean nudges his foot a bit under the table.

“Just so you know, I’m okay with either option.”

Those blue eyes jump to his, widening a bit on a sharp intake of breath, and Dean feels as though he’s been pinned to a board. He squirms a bit under the intensity of that gaze, but not uncomfortably so.

“I never would have expected that from you.” Cas finally says, his meaning implicit.

“Yeah, well. College is _very_ transformative. I’m probably not at all like you remember. Not that I expect you to, uh, remember me.”

“I remember you,” Cas says lowly, and the timbre of his voice sparks a flicker of a memory that’s gone too quickly for Dean to capture before Cas clears his throat and straightens up. “After all, who could forget Carter High's Homecoming King and _Most Likely to Become Internet Famous_?"

"Oh god, you _do_ remember and you totally went there." 

Cas laughs at Dean’s look of faux outrage, a warm sound that he wants to hear a lot more of.

"Can't believe we bumped into each other like that after all this time. I always wondered what happened to you."

"You did?" Cas looks genuinely shocked. "To be honest, I didn't think you even knew I existed. You were always surrounded by so many..." 

“Jerks?” Dean looks to the window, staring at the rain dotting the glass rather than looking through it. 

"Really popular people,” Cas says with an air of diplomacy. “Do you still talk to any of them?”

"Vic and I keep in touch a little bit, but he's the only one.”

“I remember Vic. He was always nice to me.” Dean hears the unspoken implication, and he grimaces a bit.

“Yeah, he's a police detective now, comes into the restaurant sometimes and gossips like a church lady about people we used to know. Gordon went to jail for armed robbery last year, if you can believe that."

"From what I remember of Gordon, I absolutely can." 

“I knew he was problematic, even back then. I just didn’t know how much.”

“You can’t see things clearly when you’re so close to them. Like holding a newspaper right to the tip of your nose and trying to read the print.”

“You know, I don’t think I even liked most of my so-called friends from back then. I just fell in with them somehow and never thought about it.”

“I suppose I can identify with that,” Cas says humbly. “Though I wish I’d had my revelation years ago.” There's something mesmerizing in his eyes, a deeper meaning he's trying to silently convey, but it feels too intimate for a public place and so Dean looks away. 

“So what _have_ you been up to since school ended?” His voice comes out rougher than anticipated, and he hopes Cas doesn’t notice.

"Well, I wish I had a bunch of adventures you could tell Vic when you see him next, but I did the least interesting thing possible for a human to accomplish after graduation."

"You became an accountant?"

"Worse. I became a tax attorney."

"You've got to be kidding me, Cas."

"I wish I were, but it's true."

"My little brother went to law school, too. He's a public defender, though." 

"Sam?” Dean startles. Cas flushes and looks away, like he’s ashamed to know that. “I remember seeing him around a little bit. He was a freshman when we graduated, right?"

"Yeah. You wouldn't even recognize him now, though, he looks so different."

"Really? I remember him as a clean cut kid. He kind of already looked like a lawyer at fourteen."

"Well, now he's even taller than me and he's got long hair like some kind of dirty hippie. He owns _Birkenstocks_ , Cas. I swear to God. Actual man sandals."

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

Missouri walks up to leave their check at Dean’s elbow. 

“Stop making fun of your baby brother when he’s not here to defend himself,” she says, shaking her head. “Or at least make a counter argument with all the stuff about you that he finds embarrassing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sam worships me, how could he find fault?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, rolling her eyes before she takes her leave, and Dean grins at Cas. Despite the long day he’s undoubtedly had, his rumpled suit and the unforgiving fluorescent lighting, there’s still something about him that fills Dean with a sense of longing.

He hopes this time he has the courage to do something about it. 

***

_Fourteen Years Ago_

“I cannot believe school is finally over,” Vic says, reaching out with his plastic cup to bump against Dean’s, the dull sound far removed from the musical clink of champagne flutes. “Next year we’re going back to being lowly freshmen again in some place entirely new.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gordon grumbles. “I’m not doing another four years of book learning, man. I already got a job doing security downtown, I’m gonna be all set.” 

“Who’s dumb enough to trust you to keep anything secure?”

Dean laughs at the face Gordon makes, and as he turns away he spots someone unexpected across the room. It’s that kid with the bright blue eyes and unruly hair that’s in half his classes, but never speaks unless he’s answering a question from a teacher. _Cas_. Dean spent most of sophomore year wondering what his deal was, why kept to himself. He seemed to shun everyone around him as much as they did him, and Dean couldn’t understand it at all. He wondered if it was one of those things that went all the way back to elementary school, long before he’d transferred here. Some weird kid stigma like having cooties that unfairly follows you all through puberty.

Dean tracks his movement across the room, wondering if there might be an opportunity tonight to talk to him before he never gets another chance. Dean’s wanted to approach him for a long time, but always finds himself hanging back -- either because he’s surrounded by his own friends, or because Cas is in the company of that exchange student from England who always looks at him with vague distaste. Dean’s heart sinks when Bal moves into his line of sight, handing Cas a cup as they lean in close to talk to each other over the music. Dean has often wondered if they’re together, then wondered why he was wondering that, then quickly made himself think about something else until he stopped wondering.

“Whatcha looking at?” Vic cranes his neck in that direction before Dean can come up with a plausible excuse, and Gordon turns to look over his shoulder. “Huh. Didn’t expect to see that guy here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, seeing an out. “Caught me off guard, needed to make sure I was seeing correctly.”

“Didn’t know you were so invested in the guy,” Al says, giving him a strange look, and Dean tries not to let the panic show on his face.

“Just never seen him outside of school before, didn’t think he was the type to socialize.”

“You looking to tutor him in that?” Gordon drawls, and there’s a touch of something in it that threatens to turn mean-spirited. Dean braces himself.

“Yeah, maybe you should give him some tips,” Al says, picking up on Gordon’s vibe. “We can’t all be as gifted as you, Winchester.”

“Define gifted?” He’s clenching one hand into a fist and trying not to grind his teeth, but Crowley catches his eye, and the look on his face tells Dean to play along with whatever he says next.

“He means you’re the human personification of the sound of panties dropping.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Crowley?” His fist unclenches, and his tone turns playful. “I’m _shy_.”

“Please. You’re only going to college because you’ve made out with every girl in a twenty mile radius and need fresh prospects.” The redirect is masterful, even if it does sting a little bit, and Dean relaxes into it as though he’s slipping into a well worn pair of jeans. He scans the room again, purposefully not letting his gaze linger on anyone in particular, though he swears Cas is looking in their direction now. 

“There’s nothing wrong with the prospects in the immediate vicinity.” 

“Only because you probably don’t remember anything about them. It’s like a new conquest every time.”

“That is a complete lie. Hey!” He calls out to Cassie as she walks by, beckoning her. She grins and comes over to sit in his lap, draping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek. 

_Hook_.

“Happy graduation!” 

“Cassie, could you please defend my honor and tell these boys that I am a perfect gentleman?”

“I will do no such thing,” she says, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. “You were supposed to pine over me for weeks after I dumped you!”

_Line._

“Excuse me? The acceptable mourning period after a breakup is one day for each month of dating. We had two months before you broke up with me on a Friday, and I didn’t start dating Lisa until Tuesday. In the afternoon!”

_Sinker_.

“Fine, fine,” she says, laughing as he bounces his knees beneath her. “You’re a gentleman, I stand corrected, let me up now.” She rolls her eyes but she’s still giggling as he helps her stand and go back to her friends. He turns to his own and shrugs.

“Incredible.” Vic says, hand over his heart. “How are you still friendly with all of them?”

“Because I’m _nice_.”

"Yeah, I’m sure they all feel so special to have made out with the great Dean Winchester," Gordon drawls, and Dean can see the jealous glint in his eye. "But I bet you couldn’t tell one from the other in the dark." 

"Oh yeah?" It’s bait, and he knows it, but it’s only fair that it’s his turn to bite. "How much you wanna bet?"


	3. Close to the line

“Everyone gets close to the line, and some of us cross it sometimes.” _Lines_ , **Charlie Cunningham**

*******

"Why thank you, Meg, you're so thoughtful to bring me that complicated thing I drink that passes for coffee. You're the best assistant ever."

Cas tears his eyes away from the computer screen that he realizes he's been staring at for some time, blinking lazily at Meg just as he registers that the screen saver is on and he doesn’t even remember what he was working on when he zoned out. 

"What?"

She raises an eyebrow as she taps three times on the lid of the very large takeout cup that's sitting in the center of his desk before sliding it closer to him. 

"You're an angel," he says gratefully, grabbing it with both hands and taking a careful sip to gauge the temperature before indulging in a larger gulp.

"There are those who would argue differently, but I respect your opinion." She drops into the chair opposite, slinging one arm over the back of it. "What's up with you? You've never been a morning person, but I've been standing in front of your desk for five minutes waiting for you to notice me."

"Hm. Maybe I wanted to make sure my drink would be at the perfect temperature?"

"Don't pretend you were ignoring me by design, you're not that crafty. So what gives? Was the dinner terrible? Were you up all night with food poisoning? Did you murder Dick and have to hide the body? In which case, you could have called me, I have a very large bathtub and a shit ton of garbage bags."

"No, god no. That was _vivid_.”

“I watch a lot of true crime. Don’t change the subject.”

“I was just..." He hedges, taking another long swallow from his drink. "I was just up very late."

"Clarence," she drawls. "That much is obvious. So. What were you doing until the wee hours of the morning? And don't say Dick, because while the double entendre would be amusing we both know he hasn't got the staying power."

"Why would I be doing him?"

"Hate sex can be very stimulating, even with Dick." He gives her a withering look. "What? It could be ages before you get laid again."

He tilts his head for a moment, as though considering the possibility, then shakes it decidedly. "Doubtful." 

"Which part?” She says, giving him a sly look that he pretends not to see. “That the sex would be good, or that it might be ages before you get laid again?" He tries to keep a flat affect, but Meg has learned to read him too well these last few years. “What are you hiding? What happened last night?”

"Nothing much,” he tries, but her glare brooks no argument. “Just...I ran into someone I went to high school with, and we got to talking."

"I thought you hated all those people." 

_Not this one._

"That was a long time ago, Meg, people change."

"You sound like an after-school special. Did she fawn all over you when she found out you're a hotshot lawyer now and then get sad when you told her you were gay?"

"Okay, I was out in high school so that would hardly be a surprise, I’m hardly a hotshot, and no, he didn't fawn over me."

"Oh, _he_. Please tell me this story ends with both of you in a bathroom stall with your pants around your knees."

"Jesus, Meg."

"Fine, fine, clutch your pearls and tell me what actually happened."

"Well, he's a bartender at the restaurant.” It had been so easy to just sit and talk to Dean, conversation flowing from one obscure topic to another with no lag, no awkward silences. He wonders how long it’s been since he had a night like that with someone, genuine and unfettered. Not since Bal went back home, ten years ago now, and his heart clenches at the thought of so much time without really enjoying another person’s company. “We went to a diner for coffee after his shift ended and time got away from me, that's all." 

"Interesting." The way that word lingers in her throat with a low rumble before it leaves her lips makes him think of a large jungle cat, purring in contentment. "What's his name?”

He stares at her for a moment, then sits back in his chair with a smirk. One of the things that makes Meg such a valuable asset is how skilled she is at research; the least he can do is make her inevitable Google search that much harder.

"Thank you for the coffee, I really needed it. What do I owe you?"

"You didn't even make an attempt to segue, did you? Just took an abrupt left turn into 'none of your beeswax, Meg, go away now' like you've got something to hide."

"Meg, go away now."

"You’re like a growly bear until you’ve been properly caffeinated." She rises gracefully from the chair to saunter to the door, but peeks her head back in just before closing it. "I'll get it out of you eventually, you know." She pulls the door shut before he can even retort, but it's probably for the best since his phone vibrates where it's sitting on the desk, the text notification with Dean's name on full display.

_Hey, sorry again for keeping you so late, I really didn't mean to._

He’s glad Meg’s left the room, because he can’t contain his smile.

_Yes, you are solely to blame. All of the responsibility for missing my bedtime falls on your shoulders._

_Guess a humble apology won’t do, then. I'll have to seek atonement by buying you a drink, or several._

Cas hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen, his fervent desire to say yes tempered by the awkward reality of his current situation. Another text comes through before he can answer.

_That sounds like I'm asking you on a date, sorry. Just a friend drink, promise. You said you'd been watching_ Fringe _and so I think we need to talk about how Gene is the best character._

He should feel relieved at the clarification, but what washes over him tastes more like disappointment, bitter and chalky.

_He doesn't get enough screen time, frankly._ He can spend some time with Dean, in any case, answer all the maybes and what ifs that have plagued him over the years, oil that squeaky hinge in the door to the past so he can shut it properly, seal the ghosts away forever. _When are you free? Any night or weekend works for me, just let me know your schedule._

They'd talked movies and board games and the Whedonverse in general, topics he'd never imagined Dean would be interested in. When they were young Dean was always cocksure in a way that made him bristle, at first disgusted with the way girls flocked after him, then envious of the attention he paid to them while being angry at himself for falling into the same trap. Maybe this way he can get some closure for the old high school crush that he is definitely not still harboring. 

"Right," he mutters. "That's totally convincing."

If anything, spending time with Dean will give him a reason not to be home, biding time in the guest room. Dick was already in bed by the time he'd gotten back last night, but the chill in the air as he'd left for work this morning was practically tangible.

_Monday night work for you? I could meet you at the same diner when you get off work, if you want, we could eat. Seriously amazing selection of comfort food, if you like that sort of thing. Not as fancy as your dinner last night._

Maybe not, but the company is sure to be better.

_Man cannot afford to eat fine steak every night of the week so yes, that's perfect. I can be there by six._

Dean sends a thumbs up emoji as a reply, and Cas grins. 

***

"Earth to Dean, hello?" 

"Hmm?" He looks up at Charlie, who's waving a hand in front of his face. "What's up?"

"You've been wiping that glass with a towel for fifteen minutes, I think it's dry."

"What? Oh. Yeah, sorry, I was distracted."

"I'll say. You owe me details about last night."

"Well there aren't any.” It’s not that he doesn’t want to gush about Cas, and he certainly doesn’t want to lie to Charlie. “We went up the street for coffee and talked for a while, that's all. It was nothing."

But it definitely hadn’t felt like nothing. It had been easy and exciting, talking to Cas about everything and anything, like putting the final piece into a jigsaw puzzle you've been working on for ages.

"How long is a while?"

"Um. One o'clock?"

"Dean, that's like four hours!"

"Is it? I was never good at math." She smacks him on the arm, and he playfully flinches away with a grin. "Okay, okay. We lost track of time."

"So are you going to see him again?"

"Yeah, but it's not like that. He just got out of a really bad relationship, and he needs someone to talk to."

"You shouldn't take bar confessions outside of the actual bar, that's like a priest doing his job in a bowling alley."

"Well I'm not actually the bartender, so it doesn't count."

Charlie just rolls her eyes. "Was he the only one confessing, or did you lay out your whole bi transformative experience for him?"

"One, you told me that was a third date conversation. And two, yes, I was too busy listening to him to talk about myself.”

“I didn’t even know that was possible for you.”

He glares at her over his shoulder. “Three, are you gonna help me fill any of these drink orders or just grill me for the rest of the night?"

"Four, as in hours of time you spent with this guy, just talking?" She pouts as she starts making drinks. "I thought I was the only person you did that with. And Sam, except the two of you are usually arguing when that happens." She looks pensive even as she shakes up a cocktail. "Makes you wonder if you would have been really good friends back then after all."

"You mean if I hadn't been so busy acting like a gross cliche with all my jock buddies?"

"Acceptance is the first step to recovery, Winchester."

He sighs, placing the beers on a nearby tray. "I've been thinking about it all day, actually, but there's nothing I can do to change the past. What I _can_ do is become friends with him now, and that's definitely an opportunity I'm not going to pass up."

" _Just_ friends?"

"Jesus, Charlie, I haven't seen the guy in over a decade, it’s too early to consider anything else.” Except that he’s spent the entire day doing just that, having a good old fashioned game of _what if_ with himself. Charlie peers at him in that way she has, because she can smell a lie as easily as walking into a room where someone burned popcorn an hour before.

"So your old crush is definitely old news, then?"

Before he can answer a customer flags her down, and he moves to the other end of the bar to collect his thoughts. Cas as an adult is so far removed from the fresh-faced boy that used to draw Dean’s eye, before he was savvy enough to understand why he was so desperate for Cas to notice him. Back then he didn’t know him at all beyond his face and his name, so unwilling to be caught out for his curiosity that he kept it closely hidden until it was too late to do anything about it.

Things are different now. 

The moment he saw Cas last night he still felt an irresistible pull towards those eyes, those full lips, that jaw; but just talking to him for a few minutes made him realize how much he’d never known about Cas, and how much he wanted to. Now, even after spending hours talking to him the night before, all Dean can think about is how much more he wants to hear. 

“So?” Charlie sidles up and elbows him lightly in the ribs.

“I think my old crush is definitely old news,” he murmurs. 

“Uh-huh.”

“No, it’s…” he clears his throat, looking out into the bar and the restaurant beyond as if they hold the answer, then shaking his head to clear it. “I didn’t know him then. I just liked the way he looked, but I was so self-conscious about it and never even tried to talk to him. I was just, you know…”

“Pining from afar?”

“Whatever teenagers do, sure. But now I just want to become friends with him, and that’s all it has to be right now.” There were a few times that he definitely thought it could be more, but he’s trying not to focus on that, as desperately as he might want to. He knows all too well how vulnerable you can feel after a relationship crumbles at your feet, the way you keep finding another piece of it in an unexpected place weeks after you swear you’ve cleaned up the last of it. “He’s navigating a post-breakup minefield, and I don’t want anybody to lose a leg.”

“Right. And that cautiousness has nothing to do with what happened with Lisa?”

“Wow. _Wow_. That was five years ago, damn.” 

“I’m just saying -- don’t let what happened there keep you from making a move on Cas if the opportunity arises.”

“Charlie, just give me a little time to get to know the guy, alright? Maybe I don’t even find him attractive.”

Charlie laughs so hard she has to bend over, bracing her hands on her knees and drawing comically large breaths, and Dean considers pushing her over before rolling his eyes and going to help another customer.

*** 

"You know that Connery wore a toupee in every single Bond movie, right?" 

Cas blinks at him in stunned silence for several minutes. "How do you retain so much completely useless information?" he finally manages to ask. 

They've been debating Daniel Craig versus every previous incarnation of Fleming's famous spy for the last hour, and Cas is agog with just how much Dean knows. The ketchup laden french fry en route to Dean's mouth pauses just long enough for him to grin before continuing the journey to its inevitable end, and Cas clenches his fist to keep from reaching out to brush away the spot of ketchup on his lower lip before Dean’s tongue darts out to do the honors.

"I just like to know stuff. Like, every time I finish watching a show or a movie I spend time on its IMDB page, and odd tidbits fascinate me, so they just lodge in my brain. It's how Charlie and I got to be friends, and why we're so formidable when we go to the Double Deuce."

"Double Deuce? Can’t say I’ve ever been there."

"Oh my god, seriously? They have a trivia night every week, and we try to make it whenever we can. You'll have to come with us next time. It's basically just an excuse to drink with your friends while you play live action Trivial Pursuit with a bunch of strangers."

Cas hesitates, scratching a fingernail on the laminate tabletop, mulling over his response to that. 

"I'm, uh, not much good in groups." 

"Ah, I don't believe that."

"No, it's true.” He starts tearing an empty sugar packet into smaller and smaller pieces, fretting away the nervousness of his admission until the pieces are too small to grasp anymore. “Dick was always dragging me from one social engagement to another. I went along for a while, hoping each time it would be a learning experience. It was never very long before I was standing in a corner by myself, nursing some terrible drink and wishing I were home. I’ve never been comfortable around people, I guess.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“What?” He glances up but can’t place the look on Dean’s face before it flits away.

“Nothing, sorry, go on.”

Cas wants to press, find out just what Dean’s impression of him was back then, but he’s fearful of where that discussion would lead. He shakes his head, trying to regain his train of thought.

“I don’t actually enjoy feeling awkward all the time, even if it’s my default setting. I’d try to talk to different people, but it wouldn’t take long before I realized I was out of my depth. I don't know anything about post-modern art or nouveau jazz or haute cuisine, and trying to steer food conversation into _Iron Chef_ just gets you stared at by a lot of scandalized people."

"Well, was it the original Japanese version or the American? Because some people are really sensitive about that."

"I would argue that Morimoto's presence in both incarnations make them equally valid."

"Okay, see, this is definitely an argument worth having and we’re going to come back to it later."

Cas grins, his confession feeling lighter now.

"Well, most of the people in my circle would just stare blankly at me and then say something like 'you know, I've dined at the original Philly location of his restaurant' or something equally pretentious before turning away to find someone else to talk to."

Dean hums thoughtfully.

"I confess, I don’t think I’d like the company you keep very much."

Cas pauses for a moment, considering the people he's been around for the last five years, most of them colleagues favored by Dick, others tangentially associated with the firm somehow. He's always felt like an actor in a play who hasn't learned his lines, watching everyone perform around him without any idea of what’s happening in the story. Now he’s starting to understand that he wasn’t even at the right show.

"You know, I don’t care for them either. I think I just spent the past several years letting myself get pulled into a life that I didn't enjoy living, and now that it's over I don't know where to start building one for myself. It's like trying to find my way out of a fog that I woke up in the middle of, with no idea how I even got there."

Dean looks startled, then slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"It's not a pleasant realization."

"But an important one."

"You sound like you’ve been through it. What was your big epiphany?"

Dean sighs, looking out the window at a car passing by on the dark street, red pinpoints of light chasing beams of white. "I think that's a conversation for another time."

Cas studies his profile, wondering what it could be, and if Dean will stick around long enough for him to find out. He decides to throw the die.

"When’s the next trivia night?"

*** 

There’d been a moment when the conversation steered too close to the secret Dean’s keeping, and he thought he might just let it all spill out; and he might have if not for Charlie’s voice in his head.

_That's like, a third date conversation._

He thinks even a third date (and this would be their second, if they were on one, which they’re not) would be a little bit early to make that confession without sounding creepy, because he doesn’t want to scare Cas off. He likes being around him, finds his wry humor hilarious and endearing, marvels at his knowledge on a variety of topics. 

It suddenly occurs to Dean, somewhere towards the end of the second hour, that he would rather be anywhere but here.

Not because he wants to get away from Cas. 

Because he wants to get infinitely closer.

It’s not just that his looks are striking, though that’s certainly part of it. Even after several hours too long in his suit, with a shadow of stubble creeping over his jaw, his features are animated and his eyes shockingly bright under the fluorescents. One side of his mouth curls up in a subtle smile whenever he likes something Dean has to say, and sometimes his eyes crinkle when he laughs outright in a way that makes his breath catch. 

Dean curls his right hand around his glass, swirling the dregs of melted ice and soda left at the bottom, just to keep from reaching out. Cas’s left hand is _right there_ , the long, elegant fingers slightly curled in a relaxed posture on the laminate surface of the table, oblivious to his desperate desire to hold it. 

He wonders how someone like this, affable and adorable and desirable all in equal measure, could end up with that asshole from the restaurant. Cas had told him some of the story, but seemed reluctant to discuss anything in detail. It’s probably for the best, because Dean already feels an overwhelming sense of protectiveness, coupled with a fervent desire to do everything in his power to make this man happy.

“Is that the time?” Cas stares down at his watch, frowning as though he’s disappointed in it, and Dean’s heart sinks. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you here again for hours, rattling away about nothing.”

“I didn’t even notice.” It slips out before he can wonder if it’s too soon, too honest, and Cas blinks at him several times before his frantic face suddenly softens into a shy smile, and Dean melts along with it. “I wish it hadn’t taken so long for us to finally get to know one another.” It’s only the softest edge of a confession, but it’s a start even so. 

“I’m glad to have a second chance,” Cas says softly, but his eyes are a little sad and Dean can’t help but wonder why. 

*** 

_Fourteen Years Ago_

Cas has had two more half-filled cups of lukewarm beer, and it's enough to make him loose-limbed, at ease with his surroundings. He leans heavily on Bal as they amble through the crowd, being basically ignored by everybody as they catch out-of-context tidbits of conversation. 

"...dumped him, because I'm not going to school across the country just to tie myself down here, god, I'm trying to never come back and he..."

"...so glad when the season finally ended, I swear it was, like, coach was on a mission to spit in all of our faces while screaming until that vein popped out in the middle of his forehead and, like, it was so hard not to laugh and make it worse..."

Cas starts to giggle, and Bal follows suit even as he makes shushing sounds. 

"...Dad won't get me a credit card, and I tried to say I'd only use it for emergencies but he said I had a 'skewed perspective on what constitutes an emergency', like, okay old man, what the hell do you..."

"...can't believe you have Dean Winchester tied up in a bedroom in some kind of weird kissing booth experiment..."

Bal stops in his tracks, but it takes a few moments for Cas to register why. Bal pushes him back against the nearby wall, eyes widening as he puts a finger to his lips.

"You'd be the perfect candidate to give him a snog, sweetheart, come on." He recognizes Crowley's voice; after all, there are only two foreign students in their entire class and one of them is Bal.

"Ew, no, that's _gross_." He's not sure who the girl is, though she looks as vaguely familiar to him as everyone else. "It's bad enough that he's already tasted most of the female tongues in this school, now you want me to kiss him after like six other girls?"

"Gordon bet him a hundred bucks he couldn't guess who he was kissing, but he's gotten them all right so far."

Cas softly bangs his head against the wall behind him, trying to pull Bal along. He doesn't want to hear this, it's too disheartening, but he gets a firm hand against his sternum in response.

"I bet Gordon's freaking out, he probably doesn't even have that much money."

"In that case it's going to suck for Winchester when he realizes he's been blindfolded and tied to a chair for an hour in Luke's room for nothing."

Bal moves away, dragging Cas behind him as he enters the kitchen and pulls him toward a door at the far end. Cas has a brief, fleeting hope that they're leaving the party after all, but suddenly they're in another room with a washer and dryer and a bunch of shelves. 

"Okay, this is your chance."

"Chance for what?"

"Chance to get Winchester out of your system, don't you see? Here." He takes Cas by the wrist and drags him to the other side of the room, gesturing to an open doorway with a staircase leading up. "When you open the door at the top of the steps, Luke's room is the one directly in front of you."

His brain feels fuzzy, and he blinks a few times as he processes this information. "Wait, how do you know this?"

"No reason."

" _Balthazar_."

"Don’t say my name like that, it gives me parochial school flashbacks.” Cas glares. “Okay, I will tell you everything later -- on one condition. You go up there, sneak into the room, and lay one on your big crush."

"And get pummelled by the entire baseball team? No thanks."

"Cassie, he’s _blindfolded_. He won't know it's you, and I'll keep watch for the others in the hall."

Cas twirls his empty cup in his hands before setting it on the dryer with a sigh. "I don't know."

"It's the only chance you're ever going to get with that boy, so I suggest you take it. Come _on_ , Cassie, you've never taken a chance on anything in your life, and now's the time to start."

He bites his lip, trying to sort through his muddled thoughts, but it’s like Bal has planted a seed there. A seed that has taken root and begun to sprout, limbs reaching out and starting to flower. "I think I've had just enough to drink that your idea has merit."


	4. To see without my eyes

“Oh, to see without my eyes the first time that you kissed me.” _Mystery of Love_ , **Sufjan Stevens**

***

“Oh my god, could you stop _fidgeting?_ I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

“He told me he’s not good in groups, what if this is way beyond his comfort level?”

“He’s a grown man, Dean, I’m sure if he really didn’t want to come he would have found a reason not to. But I think he’d just tell you no, not decide to start ghosting you.”

“But what if he hates it?”

“If he hates it he’ll never have to come again, it’s not the end of the world. Why are you so worried about this?”

It’s taken a couple of weeks for Dean and Charlie’s schedules to align with the next trivia night, and during that time he’s gotten a lot closer to Cas. They’ve met at the diner twice, when Dean has the night off and Cas has just gotten off work, but they’ve spent most of the time in between texting. Their conversations drift from casual observations about daily life to in-depth analysis of movies and television, and Dean often finds himself smiling stupidly at his phone in the face of Cas’s sardonic humor. Even so he can detect the strain beneath the surface, and he doesn’t want to do anything to add to it. He can’t imagine trying to find just the right apartment while still living with the man who cheated on you, and having to work with him on top of everything else.

“I just want him to have a good time tonight. There’s a lot on his plate at the moment, and none of it is any fun.”

He wants to be a source of comfort for Cas, of sanctuary, but the words to explain that crowd together in his throat and he can’t get any of them past his lips. 

“Isn’t that him?” Charlie jerks her chin towards the front door, and Dean sucks in a breath at the sight of Cas in casual clothing. Up until now he’s only ever seen Cas dressed for work, and though he looks good in a suit it always seems like he’s vaguely uncomfortable in it. Dean’s mouth goes dry as he takes in this version of Cas, in dark blue jeans that are loose at his calves but pulled tight across his thighs by the hands in front pockets. He casually surveys the room, looking effortless in a black leather jacket, and Dean suddenly feels underdressed.

“Fuck,” he whispers to Charlie, and she elbows him before he stands to wave Cas over. 

“Close your mouth before your brother sees you.”

It seems like an hour passes as Cas strolls casually across the length of the bar to their table, and Dean barely manages to collect himself before he arrives.

“Hello, Dean,” he says with a bright smile, before his glitter blue gaze moves away. “You must be Charlie?” 

“That’s me!” She puts out a hand, and Dean swallows when the pants do not get any less tight after Cas pulls his own hand out to shake hers. “Glad you could join us! Benny’s on hiatus from trivia ever since his wife had a baby, so it’ll be nice to have an even number again.”

“Even?”

“Us and Sam. He’s just up at the bar getting us drinks before it starts. Dean ordered for you.”

“You did?” Dean swallows as Cas takes off his jacket, revealing the cashmere sweater underneath that goes from a deep azure blue at his shoulders to a charcoal grey at the hem in an ombre. It makes his blue eyes even deeper, and Dean wouldn’t have believed that possible. He clears his throat.

“Um, yeah. I hope that’s cool? I can drink it if you want something else.”

“That depends on what it is,” Cas says with an easy smile, sliding into the booth across from Charlie and leaving Dean with the unfair decision of sitting across from Cas so he can look at him, or next to him where he can feel the warmth of his body a couple of inches away. Charlie raises an eyebrow as he slides in beside Cas. 

“It’s, uh, a hefeweizen. I made an educated guess based on what I’ve seen you drink.” 

“That’s perfect.” Cas says, voice full of warmth and wonder, and it makes Dean want to put a hand on the thigh beside him. He’s saved from embarrassment when Sam approaches, two mugs of beer clutched in each of his hands and a welcoming smile on his face. 

“You must be Cas,” he says, putting the drinks down carefully before sliding into his seat and reaching out to shake hands. “Dean told me you went to Carver with us? I was a few years behind but Dean’s friends were always at the house.” He looks at Cas carefully, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I thought I’d remember you when I saw your face but I’m drawing a blank.”

“Sam…”

“Oh, you wouldn’t. Dean and I never even spoke to each other while we were in school.”

“Really?” Sam is looking at Cas, but as far as Dean is concerned all of the attention is on him, and he fidgets in his seat. “From the way he’s been talking about you the last couple of weeks I figured you guys used to be friends.” Sam flinches when Dean kicks him hard under the table, but otherwise doesn’t give anything away.

“No,” Cas says with a good-natured shake of his head. “We moved in completely different circles. By that I mean that Dean had a circle of popular kids around him, and I had a circle of invisibility.” Sam and Charlie both laugh, and out of the corner of his eye Dean can see the smirk on Cas’s face. He thinks maybe this night is going to go okay after all. “So how does this work anyway?”

Charlie starts enthusiastically explaining the rules, showing Cas how they’ll answer questions on the tablet at their table, and Sam finally turns to gaze at Dean with a knowing look on his face. They learned long ago how to communicate without words, and the best interpretation of the conversation that follows between them is Sam teasing him for his crush and Dean threatening to break his jaw if he does anything to embarrass him in front of Cas.

“Does our team have a name?” he hears him ask, and Sam clearly wants parts of his body broken when he turns away from Dean with a look of glee.

“Thanks to Dean we’re the Triviamadorians.”

“He originally wanted something way longer and even more ridiculous, but I can’t remember what it was…”

“Was the other one a _Slaughterhouse-Five_ reference, too?” Cas asks, and Dean could kiss him right now for the shocked looks on both their faces.

“You a Vonnegut fan, Cas?” 

“Not especially, that’s the only one I’ve ever read and uh...only because it was on the summer reading list one year.” He blushes a bit, and it’s kind of adorable on a lawyer in his thirties. Dean bumps their shoulders together. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, Sammy was exactly the same. Must be a prerequisite for law school, being the nerd who does all the summer reading.”

“As I recall you’d read most of them by the time I did, and then you borrowed all the ones you hadn’t whenever I was done with them.”

“Don’t worry, Cas, you are among a solid bunch of nerds here, even if Dean was in the closet back then.” He can’t kick her under the table without hitting Cas, so he tries to murder her with his eyes instead.

“Shouldn’t the nerd closet be a wardrobe?” Cas muses.

“Oh my god, _yes_.” She puts her hand in the air until he gives her a high five. “Can we please keep him?”

Dean wants to respond that Cas is not a pet, and that he has no say in whether he’s kept or not -- but there’s such a large smile on Cas’s face, eyes crinkling with joy at the corners as he holds his beer out to clink against Charlie’s, and all the nervous energy inside Dean melts into something soft and warm in his chest. 

As the night proceeds it seems that Cas is genuinely having a great time, and Dean breathes a little bit easier minute by minute. He’s content to sit back and let Charlie and Sam monopolize Cas for most of the night, holding back a secret smile at how well they all fit together. 

“So,” Cas says during a break before the last round, when Charlie and Sam leave for the bathroom and the bar, respectively. “I think you might have had a point about finding the right crowd.” He pulls his sleeves up to his elbows, an unconscious and casual gesture, and Dean is momentarily mesmerized by his forearms like a regency hero who just caught a forbidden glimpse of a wrist. “Dean?”

“Hmm?” He shakes his head, freeing himself from the sense of deja vu. “Sorry, I spaced out, uh, trying to remember exactly when I said that.”

“It doesn’t matter when,” Cas says, turning away to focus on the tip of his own finger as it traces a scratch in the wooden tabletop. “Only that...you were right.” 

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Dean responds quietly, and that soft smile brightens like the flare of a torch coming into a dark, empty room. 

“I always do, with you.” Their eyes meet, and Dean feels a continental shift inside him, drawing him closer, and he’s just about resolved to kissing him right here in the middle of the bar when Cas abruptly pulls away. “I’m glad we’ve gotten a chance to be friends after all this time.”

“Yeah,” Dean says hoarsely, pulling away with a cough. “Me, too.”

It’s a relief when Sam and Charlie get back, but it doesn’t make him feel like any less of a fool.

***

“This is unbelievable,” Meg says, head tipped back against the chair as though she’s looking to the ceiling for moral support. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. Trivia night, bowling, escape room...karaoke is going to be the next stop, I can feel it.”

“Well…”

“No,” she says, putting up her hand as she sits up, spine rigid as she assumes the correct seating posture for once. “I do not want to hear it, because if I hear it I’ll picture it, and I do not need the mental image of you crooning some off-tune country song into a...fuck, I did it to myself, that’s all I can see now.” She sighs, slumping in the chair and drawing her knees up to her chest.

“You couldn’t even sit properly for a full minute.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“What exactly _is_ the subject?”

“That you say you’re not dating this guy when all you’ve ever done for the month is go on what are obviously dates.”

“We’re always with other people, Meg, they’re not dates, they’re, uh.” 

“Dates.”

“ _Group outings._ ”

“Boss, it’s clear to me that you’re into this guy, even if you still won’t tell me his name.”

“I’ve seen how quickly you can get a lot of information with very little to go on, not a chance.”

“Fair. The point is that you spend every chance you get with him…”

“And his friends. Well, his friend and his brother.”

“...letting him take you on all kinds of adventures that you’ve somehow managed to avoid despite being almost forty…”

“I’m _thirty-two_.”

“...and I don’t understand why you won’t let him take you on the biggest adventure of all and get naked.”

“You do realize that this is a highly inappropriate conversation to have with your boss?”

“Pretend I clocked out ten minutes ago.” Cas pushes away from his desk in defeat, biting his lip and refusing to meet Meg’s eyes. “Clarence, it’s so obvious to me that you like him.” Her voice takes on an uncharacteristically soft tone, and it disarms him enough to deflate a bit, though he still can’t look at her. “Why won’t you do anything about it? Is it because of the situation with Dick?”

He can feel Dick’s eyes on him whenever he passes through the common areas of their place, trying to get him to interact through sheer force of will. Refusing to acknowledge his presence is easier there than it is at work, where Dick feigns a saccharine attitude with him in every meeting. It’s as though he’s trying to make their audience sympathetic to his plight, like they’re a high school clique instead of a group of law professionals working on the task at hand. Cas feels like he’s being regularly drained by an emotional vampire, and the only thing that energizes him is the time spent with Dean.

“I’ve looked at a dozen or so apartments, and hated every single one. I don’t want to move out of one place where I’ve never felt at home and into another one just because I’m desperate.”

“Desperate to move out or desperate to get laid?”

“Meg.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “There’s something else holding you back, isn’t there?” He sighs, head falling back against the chair. “What gives?”

“I’m afraid to trust how good it is,” he muses, spinning the chair side to side slightly as he stares at the ceiling. “I’ve never really felt like I belonged. I was too awkward to make friends as a kid so I was always alone, and by the time I got to high school I was effectively an outcast. The only friend I made was a transfer student who didn’t get the memo that I was to be universally shunned.” He laughs, remembering how he’d tried to discourage Bal from talking to him lest he be stigmatized by association, and Bal finding that notion utterly ridiculous. 

“Wait, so this guy you’re spending time with now, he never even talked to you in school?”

Cas shakes his head. “God, no. In high school he was That Guy, you know the type.”

“Ah, I see. The star of every teen romance movie, paramour of every straight girl and secret crush of every closeted boy.” She raises an eyebrow. “You, too?”

“Not at first, but yes, eventually. Couldn’t help myself, despite the fact that he never deigned to speak to me.”

“Well, clearly he got over himself, because now all he does is talk to you. Do you think I can’t hear your phone blowing up all day? I can easily discern the sound of a text vibration against the mahogany of your desk.”

“You know, you could be dangerous in another profession if you wanted to be.”

“Law enforcement gives me the shivers.” She actually shudders. “But I digress. He’s into you, believe me.”

“There’s no way for you to interpret his intentions based on the frequency of his text messages, nor know how he feels about me.” He says it to discourage her, but he wishes he could discourage himself. An image leaps to mind of the way Dean looks at him when he talks -- like he’s hanging on every word, eyes hooded and lips pulled into a soft smile. Cas can’t help himself. He wants, but layered within that is trepidation.

_You’re boring._

“Maybe I can’t be certain about him, but I can definitely get a read on _you_ , Clarence.” He squirms in his chair under her piercing, perceptive gaze, feeling as transparent and fragile as glass. “So what are your intentions, given that you’re obviously in love with him?”

“What?” He presses a hand against his heart, trying to calm the frenetic pace it suddenly adopted when Meg said that word. “I don’t, I mean...I can’t! How can I?”

Meg stands to lean on his desk, eyes boring into his. “Search your feelings, Clarence. You know it to be true.”

He stares at her, mind screaming as it dawns on him, ever so slowly. His attraction to Dean that first night was immediate, if not the same as when they were younger, like having a refined version of a dish you loved as a child and enjoying it in a way that’s both satisfying and nostalgic all at once. Just as before, he’d been aggravated by his desire and tried firmly to set it aside, albeit for different reasons. And just as before something unbidden and unseen had crept into his heart, seeping into the cracks of its foundation until it took root and blossomed, turning itself constantly in the direction of its green-eyed sun.

Not for the first time in his life, Cas feels his own heart thundering in his chest and wonders exactly when he fell in love with Dean Winchester. 

“This isn’t good,” he whispers to himself, heart heavy with a weight it didn’t carry the last time.

“You just need to take a chance...” 

“Meg, there’s something he doesn’t know, and he should. Something...something I did, back in school.”

“How bad could it be?”

_I can't see you, but I know you're there._

“Bad enough that I still feel guilty about it. I took advantage in a situation when he was vulnerable, and...and he doesn’t know it was me.” He rubs his chest now, because suddenly it aches, hollow and deep. “When we first started hanging out I...I figured he’d get bored with me quickly, and it wouldn’t be an issue. I’d never have to tell.” 

“And now?”

“Now? Now it feels like I’m always lying a little bit, keeping this secret from him, but knowing it…” He shakes his head. “Meg, he might never want to talk to me again, and that would be _devastating._ ”

“Clarence, listen to me. This guy, whatever-his-name-is-since-you-still-refuse-to-tell-me, is clearly someone important to you. If you feel like you did something you need to apologize for, then do it. It was a really long time ago, and clearly you regret it. Those are all points in your favor.”

“But…”

“No. No buts. Not this kind, anyway. Take the initiative to apologize and see where it takes you from there, because if you never speak up? There are only two things that are sure to happen: your guilt eats you up inside, or he eventually finds out on his own. You know _exactly_ how it feels when a bomb you weren’t expecting blows up in your face.”

“I do,” he whispers, voice as hollow as he suddenly feels. Secrets are grenades with time for a primer, and the more it has the farther it flings shrapnel into all the soft things around it, ruining them beyond repair. 

***

Dean looks up at the sound of three sharp raps against the doorframe, blinking a bit to help his eyes readjust from staring at columns of figures. Benny leans in the doorway, blocking most of the light from the hall with his broad shoulders, made even more imposing when he crosses his arms.

“How the hell can you look at that stuff for so long? It’s like looking at the code of the Matrix.”

“Well, when I find the woman in the red dress I’ll be sure and steer clear, don’t worry.” He sits back in his chair, pulling off his reading glasses and tossing them onto a pile of papers. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been watching that new kid you’re training at the bar, he’s doing a really good job.”

“Yeah, it’s a relief. He didn’t have any experience but he’s eager to learn, and he picked things up pretty quickly. No replacement for Andrea, mind,” he says with a wink, and Benny chuckles softly. “But give him some time.”

“Hell, no, ain’t nobody ever gonna replace my gal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His phone buzzes against the desk and he picks it up immediately, smiling at the screen when he sees who the text is from. Benny lets out a low chuckle before Dean even types a response, and he puts the phone down like a child caught with a forbidden cookie. “What?”

“Charlie tells me that you’ve been seeing somebody, brother.”

“She did _what?”_

“Don’t even try to lie to me about it. I’m not so distracted by the baby that I haven’t noticed that something’s up with you this last month or so. Something good.”

“Benny, it’s not like that.”

“So what’s it like?”

“We’re just friends, that’s all,” he says automatically, but it feels like sawdust in his mouth, dry and bitter and out of place. 

“But you don’t want to be ‘just’ friends, do you?” Dean feels exposed under that level gaze, as though his body is incorporeal and all his feelings manifest as color and light, vibrant in the open air. “I’ve never seen you pull the brakes when you’re interested in someone. Hell, you hit on me the first night we met, and you didn’t stop until you succeeded.”

“You act like you were putting up a fight instead of giving as good as you got.” Benny laughs, loud and full-bodied, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the same way that drew Dean to him a dozen years ago from across the room at a party sophomore year. By then he’d become more confident in his own skin, less reticent to act on impulses he would have denied not long before that. 

“So you’re not getting the same feedback from him, is that what you’re saying?” 

“Most of the time I feel like we’re on the same page.” It seems like they’re mutually existing in each other’s space with a sense of comfort, the low hum of desire like electricity moving through the air between them. “All nonverbal signs seem to point to yes, but just when I think the moment has come to make a move...” He gestures helplessly. 

“Hmph. Not encouraging.”

“No, and I’m not doing a damn thing without a green light. I don’t want to accidentally push him away.”

“Is that so?” Dean swallows when Benny gets that look that makes him feel like his skin is made of tissue paper and all his inner turmoil is on display. “You’ve always been the type to move on if you weren’t getting anywhere. Never seen you willing to wait around before, just hoping the opportunity would arise.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “It’s just...where he’s concerned I already know how it feels to have squandered an opportunity.”

Benny hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like there’s a story here.” He crosses his arms, the picture of patience, and Dean crumbles under his soft gaze.

***

_Fourteen Years Ago_

When Dean first opened his eyes today, he hadn’t imagined that this evening would see him sitting bound to a chair in a dark bedroom with a bandanna wrapped around his eyes. He’d only agreed to be tied after soliciting a solemn promise from Vic not to leave him there all night, and then Alastair had somehow procured an overly long extension cord to secure his upper body to the chair’s back, holding the cord and spinning the chair while he giggled maniacally.

The rules were simple: Gordon would send a girl into the room, and she would kiss Dean without saying anything. Dean’s only condition was that it had to be a girl he’d definitely kissed at least once, or else it would be unfair. Gordon had grumbled until Crowley pointed out that this description applied to at least half the girls at the party, which stung a bit, eventually Gordon agreed. He couldn’t reach the blindfold to remove it, could barely even move his hands off the arms of the chair, and was yelling out his guess each time. So far Gordon was losing, and getting very agitated about it. Dean had already correctly identified Tessa, Lisa, Carmen, and Rhonda, and considering he and Tessa had last made out in the seventh grade he was feeling smug about it. (He was pretty sure Vic had been the one to recruit her, because the guy never forgot _anything_.) 

He listens to the group of them now arguing outside the door.

"Okay, there's got to be someone at this party who can stump him. Everybody go downstairs and recruit another participant, whatever you have to do."

"I can carry at least two."

"We're not going to drag girls up here against their will, Al, don't be stupid."

"Vic, you're such a white knight.”

“Guys, focus! Let’s all just find a candidate and regroup at the bottom of the stairs.”

Dean waits for some time, lolling against the back of the chair, using one foot to spin himself in slow circles. He amuses himself by imagining Gordon stopping every single girl in their class to ask if she'd come upstairs and kiss him, wondering if he's been slapped yet. He tries to remember who else is at the party that might come up here, and once again an inner part of him flinches at how many there are.

_You’re only in this mess because you’re afraid everyone will find out about who you really want to kiss._

He sighs, letting his foot drag on the carpet until the chair comes to a stop. He wonders what Cas is up to downstairs, if he and that Bal guy are making out, what kind of a kisser he is. He’s so lost in his reverie that it’s a surprise when the door opens and shuts quickly, and he turns towards the sound, tamping down the flash of guilt at his thoughts. 

He stills, listening, and he can make out ragged breathing. 

"Well?" 

There’s no movement from across the room, but he’s rewarded with the sound of the lock clicking. He smirks, unable to help himself.

"I can't see you, but I know you're there,” he taunts. Someone shy, obviously, and he suspects it might be Anna. "Show me what you've got." He hears a deep intake of breath before the shuffle of shoes across the carpeted floor, hesitant but coming closer.

Warm hands cradle his face gently, tilting his head back, and Dean licks his lips in anticipation. Truth be told, it hadn't been difficult to guess who was who before; Tessa's perfume had easily given her away as soon as she got close enough, and the same had been true of Carmen. Rhonda's cherry flavored lip gloss had outed her. So he waited, thinking that if this _was_ Anna he'd know soon enough. She favored peppermint.

This time, though, the lips that tentatively brush against his are dry. They linger just for a moment, electric against his own, and Dean groans when they leave and the fingertips on his cheeks move away. He’s clutching the arms of the chair, wishing he could reach out to grab the person in front of him and pull them back. 

****

"You've got to give me more than that, come on." It sounds like he’s begging, but for some reason he doesn’t care. "Kiss me again. Like you mean it.” 

A pause, a breath being held, and Dean waits in frustrated anticipation. He opens his mouth, ready to taunt again, but then those lips return to his with _intent_. There is nothing tentative about this second press of lips, or the hands that cradle his face to move his head to a more suitable angle, and Dean strains against his bonds as he tries to arch up into it. By the time it’s finished he is absolutely certain about exactly two things: he has never kissed whoever this is before, and he wants to spend a lot more time doing it. 

"Don't go." 

There’s a sharp sound, a surprised intake of breath, the quiet sound of contemplation -- and then a warm body is straddling his lap, close enough for him to find firm thighs beneath his hands but unable to move them any further. He grips tight and arches up, seeking, and it’s not long before he’s rewarded. He wastes no time before he licks at a full bottom lip, seeking permission that is easily given, and then he’s lost. Arms twine about his neck as his own fingers dig into the muscles beneath his hands, holding on for life through a succession of searing kisses that may just be one, unending. It’s not long before he’s breathing heavily, thoughts pulsing red, every nerve ending in his body alight with a flame that falters when there’s a knock at the door, two sharp raps cutting through the heated haze of his mind. Suddenly the warm presence in his lap is gone.

"Wait!" he says breathlessly. "Tell me who you are." He gets the sinking feeling that if they leave there will be no glass slipper left behind for him to go on. " _Please."_

A voice in the hall hisses something urgently through the door, and he tenses in anticipation, listening for an answer.

"I can't," says a deep voice, makeout husky and decidedly not a girl that he knows. Not any girl at all.

“Holy shit,” Dean mutters, then the door opens and shuts rapidly and he knows he’s all alone. His head falls back against the chair as he tries to calm his still racing heart, but there’s nothing he can do to quell the frantic pace of his thoughts. They replay every single moment, the sound of that voice causing his imagination to apply a specific face to this stranger, one that he will obsess about in the weeks to come. The memory of this night visits him often when his sleep is restless, or his days idle, and though the frequency of its occurrence will diminish over the next fourteen years, it never truly goes away. 


	5. The world that I see

“You see the world that I see, and you don't try to fix me.” - _Everything I Did to Get to You_ , **Ben Platt**

***

It’s not very late on a Wednesday night and Cas is already in bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose and laptop balanced on his blanket covered legs. He’s glumly scrolling through the same apartment listings that he’s been looking at for months, resigned to just signing a lease on the place least offensive to his sensibilities, just so he can stop stubbing his toes on the boxes he’s already packed and hoarded into the guest room. He clicks from one listing to another, all of them different configurations of the same boring setup: beige carpet, white walls, few windows. Living spaces nearly as stifling as the one he’s currently in, minus one cheating scumbag.

His phone buzzes, rattling slightly on the wireless charging pad, and he glances to the nightstand. He still thrills at seeing Dean’s name even though he’s been avoiding him for most of the week, nerves too raw from the realization Meg forced him to see, heart too heavy with the secret he still keeps. 

_Hey man, I know you’re busy, but I saw this and I thought you might want to check it out._

It’s followed by a link, and Cas clicks on it, happy for the distraction until he sees that it’s another apartment listing. He nearly groans in frustration, but he trusts Dean. He’s so intrigued as he reads the listing that he scrolls down to look at the pictures, thinking it must be too good to be true. It only takes one look before he’s back to his laptop, eagerly sending an email to the contact, asking if the place is still available and when he can come see it.

_I love this,_ he texts back, wishing that last word were something different. _You know me so well._

_Well, you’re worth knowing. :)_

He stares at that text for a long time, the weight of words unsaid pressing against his heart. It’s only the email notification that breaks him out of his reverie, and he sighs in relief to see that the unit is still available, and he’s welcome to come see it the next day.

“Once I get out of here, I’ll tell you everything,” Cas vows to his phone, inanimate witness that it is. Not only because Dean deserves to know, but because Cas is determined to move forward with his life by being genuine to himself and everyone around him. If he’s going to start fresh, he needs to come clean with the person he most wants to be part of his new future. 

He flops back against the pillows, agonizing over what he should say and finding himself missing his father desperately for the first time in years. Chuck had been terrible at giving any kind of practical advice, but he knew how to help Cas take his garbled thoughts and organize them, shape them into discussions and arguments passionate enough to make others stop and listen. They’d never really been close, but Cas misses the way the elder Novak would listen to him rambling before repeating everything back to him in a way that was clear and concise, in a way that showed he always listened more closely than his oft distracted air would suggest. His father would be idly strumming his guitar, writing down bits of music as Cas babbled on and on about some problem, interrupting only with the occasional hum of acknowledgement. It wasn’t until several minutes after Cas would run out of words that Chuck would finally reply, never looking up from his notebook, and everything would fall into place. 

Dick had always adopted the same mien when Cas spoke to him, and in the beginning it felt like a rainy midmorning in his father’s study all over again, when he was desperately seeking guidance. It took some time for him to accept that Dick wasn’t multitasking while letting Cas talk through a problem, thinking of a solution. He simply wasn’t listening at all. He wasn’t _present_ , Cas realizes, and that’s why his absence makes no difference. 

He knows this is why he’s terrified of making a mistake with Dean. It’s not some bizarre wish fulfillment, some old fantasy being realized and making him feel powerful. No, it’s because Dean is always fully present when he’s with Cas, always listening, focused on every word he says with rapt attention as though he’s afraid he’ll miss something. He never seems like he’s eager for Cas to stop talking because he’s waiting for his own turn to speak. 

He’s banking on that when the time comes, praying that Dean lets him say everything he has to say: to explain, to apologize, to confess. 

***

“Twenty bucks says that’s a text from Cas,” Sam says smugly from his seat at the end of the bar, and Dean casually gives him the finger behind his back, out of view of customers, before putting his phone back in his pocket.

“No bet,” Charlie says, putting another beer down in front of him. “The dopey, soft smile is a dead giveaway every time.”

“Would you two just quit it?”

“What do you expect us to do, when you keep pining from afar like some lovesick teenager?”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s your turn to witness that for a change, considering I’ve had to deal with you moping over one girl after another since you first got your heart broken by...what was her name? Amy.” He clutches at his heart. “Sweet, sweet Amy.”

“Dude, she moved away, she did not break my heart…”

“Could have fooled me with the way you were crying yourself to sleep every night.”

“You weren’t even living at home when that happened!”

“Uh, I don’t hear a denial in there, my guy.” 

Sam gives Charlie an irritated look. “Who’s side are you on?”

“I ride with the truth, my friend.”

“Let’s see, then there was that chick you tutored in high school, uh, the nursing major…”

“Sounds hot, Sam, can you show me a picture of that one?”

“Stop encouraging him.”

“... the art major, then pre-law, then you had that rebound period with a couple of chicks that I swear were demons, the veterinarian, ugh, that one was a _mistake…_ ”

“Christ, Sam, talk about being undecided.”

“ _Charlie_.” 

“And the one who’s name you haven’t let slip yet, but is probably responsible for your sudden interest in sign language.” 

“At least I was having relationships, not riding a carousel of nameless one-night stands.”

“One, I remember all of their names, two, several of them were extended weekends, and three, everybody likes to ride the pony.”

“Not Charlie.”

“You lack both imagination and knowledge if you think I cannot make arrangements to play horsey, Sam.”

“Jesus Christ, all I wanted was to get a sandwich and a beer for lunch, not be scarred for life.”

“A _free_ sandwich and a beer. It’s only fair that we get to torture you for compensation.”

Sam pulls out his wallet and slams a twenty on the bartop with a glare. “My torture time is over. Now tell us when you’re going to do something about your own mooning.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Dean.”

“No, Charlie, I really am working on it. I figure the biggest obstacle right now is his living situation, and I respect that. So I started asking around, trying to find some alternate listings for him to look at, since apartments.com isn’t getting it done for him.” He whips the slightly damp bar towel over his shoulder and shoots them both a killer grin. “He just texted me that he’s signing a lease right now, for a place I suggested to him last night. He can move in on the fifteenth.”

“Aw, Dean, that was sweet of you.”

“Please. He’s gone to far greater lengths to get laid before.”

“I’m not trying to just get laid, Sammy, stop being an ass.”

“You should volunteer to help him move.”

“Charlie, he’s a lawyer, he can afford to hire professionals. Helping your friends move is something you do in your twenties when all of you are broke and can only afford to pay the so-called movers with a pizza.”

“So go over and help him unpack his towels, and make your move then. Just a tip, though: take condoms and lube with you so you won’t have to root through all the boxes before you christen the place.”

“Oh my god, Charlie, I’m not going to seduce him on the first date that’s not really a date, okay?”

“What, you planning to court him the old-fashioned way? Like you haven’t been dating the shit out of him for months now by bringing him to every outing? You introduced him to me the first week, Dean, if anything you’re in the accelerated program.”

“That was the third week, not the first, Sam.”

“So you’re counting. Counting is what people in relationships do. I bet you remember the exact date you saw him again, don’t you?”

Dean fidgets, looking for a distraction, but it’s 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon and there’s hardly anybody in the whole restaurant, much less the bar. He sighs.

“September eighteenth,” he mutters under his breath, and Charlie and Sam fist bump.

“Aw, this means it’ll almost be your three-month anniversary when he moves into his new place. What’s the traditional gift for three months? It’s not paper, is it?”

“No, no, Sam, that’s the first year. The monthly gifts are activities, and I’m pretty sure that three months is naked wrestling.”

“No, that’s six months. Three must be naked cuddling?”

“Would you two stop already, I’m going to get a nosebleed.”

“It’s called hanaji, Dean, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

“This is not an anime, Charlie, and we are _not actually dating yet_ so if you two don’t knock it the hell off you’re going to jinx it.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender, but Sam just smirks to himself.

“What?”

“You said ‘yet’, I heard you.”

“For all that you two tease me it’s not exactly a secret that I want to ask the guy out, okay? But it’s important to me that he’s completely on board, and that’s not gonna happen while he’s still got the ex-boyfriend breathing down his neck. He needs to be able to breathe before…”

“Before you cut off his oxygen supply with your tongue?”

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Why are you always vividly describing sex acts you want me to perform? Are you not getting enough quality time with Gilda?”

“I just need you to get laid so you’ll stop being so grouchy all the time.” She stalks off toward the opposite end of the bar, and Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What’s stopping you, really?” Sam asks, soft and sincere in the way he only gets when he’s really concerned. “It’s not just waiting for him to move, is it?” 

“That’s most of the reason.”

“But?”

Dean fidgets with the bar towel in his hands, wrapping it into tight twists, then letting it fall loosely at his side. “If I’m going to be with him, I need to be completely honest with him. I don’t want to be anything like that douchebag he’s trying to get away from, you know?” Sam nods in agreement. “So I want to tell him the truth about when we were in school, and what a jerk I was.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t ever want him to feel like I’m hiding anything from him.”

“No, I mean: why do you think you were a jerk?”

“Because I had a thing for him, even back then, but I could barely admit it to myself. So I never did anything about it, never even gave him the time of day.”

“Did you bully him?”

“No, nothing like that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of my so-called friends did. They talked shit about him all the time, and I never stopped them.” Years on he’ll still cringe when he idly remembers the colorful language used by Gordon or Alastair, just leaning against their lockers and watching Cas pass by, oblivious to their whispered taunts. “Sometimes I even went along, laughing at their ugly comments, because I didn’t want them directed at me, you know?”

“You were just a _kid_ , Dean.”

“I was old enough to drive, Sam, clearly that’s old enough to know better.”

“Obtaining your driver’s license does not suddenly make you sage and wise, jerk. Certainly not about navigating high school crushes or your own sexuality.” Dean clenches his teeth to bite back his response, because he knows Sam is right. He manages a stiff nod, and something in his brother’s posture softens. “You had a lot of other stuff on your plate back then, as I recall. You didn’t have the luxury of figuring yourself out when you were too busy taking care of someone else.”

Dean huffs in begrudging agreement, foot kicking idly at the thick rubber mat on the floor behind the bar. “You know, I was terrified you were gonna burn the house down for the whole first month after I left for college.”

“I was fifteen years old by then, dude.”

“Yeah, exactly. Bound to leave the stove unattended because your head was all the way up a book’s ass.” He expects Sam to give him bitchface, but instead he just looks sheepish. “You didn’t.”

“It was just _one_ time, and after that I never made a mistake again…”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Uh, because I knew you’d freak out and lecture me about not ending up like Mom, and then probably drop out of school to come home and take care of me until I graduated high school.”

“That’s not…”

“Don’t even lie, that’s exactly what you would have done and you know it.” Sam crumples the napkin that’s been lying primly across his lap, tossing it into the middle of his empty plate. “Thankfully my older brother taught me exactly what to do when there’s a grease fire, and we always had plenty of salt in the house.” Dean laughs a bit at that, because yeah. Dad had a lot of weird superstitions after they lost their mother, and it was easier not to ask questions most of the time. “By the time Dad got home from work the smell was gone and everything was cleaned up, and I’d learned an important lesson -- do exactly as my big brother taught me.” He smiles, carefree and fond, and Dean feels a flash of pride and affection that he’ll never know how to express aloud. “You know, I bet if you told Cas all the things you had going on back then, it would go a long way to explaining why you were, uh, the way you were.”

“Douchey? Closeted? Scared?”

“I was going to say confused but sure, those work, too.” Dean laughs then, and Sam grins as though pleased with himself before sobering up again. “I mean it, though. The first chance you get, you come clean. You’ll feel better, I promise, and it might lay the groundwork you’re hoping for.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess getting a law degree makes you the sage and wise one.”

“That’s because the law is philosophical. Microbiology and business administration aren’t going to do much for matters of the heart.”

Dean shakes his head, sliding the twenty back across the bar. “Your money’s no good here,” he says, before reaching up to ruffle Sam’s hair, who recoils so quickly he nearly falls off the stool. “Use it to go get a haircut, sheesh.”

Sam glares at him as he gets up, but grabs the money. “Thanks for lunch, Charlie,” he calls out, and Dean gives him the finger again as he leaves, which Sam returns without looking as he walks away. 

***

_Fourteen Years Ago_

“Are you okay, Dean?”

“Huh?” He picks up his head, looks at Sam standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom with a confused look on his face. “What did you say?”

“Dude, I’ve been standing here for like ten minutes, and you’ve walked in six circles. You’re going to wear a track into the carpet. What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking. Um. Trying to decide what to pack for school. Yeah.”

“You’re not even leaving for like two months, and it’s an hour away.” Sam peers at him from beneath the fringe of hair that hangs in his eyes and Dean looks away, sneaking a glance at the screen of his computer, but to his relief the screen saver has come on . 

“It’s nothing. Just leaving home for the first time nerves, I guess.” He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to adopt a disaffected air. “What’s up?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away, and Dean starts to feel self-conscious under his gaze, cursing his little brother’s perceptiveness. 

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen when you leave, Dean.”

“That’s not…” Not at all what he thought Sam was going to say, and it throws him off balance a little bit. “Is that what you think I’m worried about?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Sam bites his lip, the look on his face both fearful and hopeful.

“Sammy.”

“Will you _please_ stop calling me that?” He blows the hair out of his eyes in exasperation, and Dean can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Never.”

“Ever since graduation you’ve been walking around the house in some kind of distracted funk.”

“Is that so?” He knows it is, and for once he wishes Sam wasn’t so smart.

“Duh. It’s like it just occurred to you at graduation that school is really over and you’re going away to college soon.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Not at all, but Dean would rather he think so than come anywhere close to the actual problem. “I just need some time.” 

“Will you be over your existential crisis in ten minutes? I need a ride to the pool. You won’t have to pick me up, I swear, Amy’s mom will get us later.”

“Yeah, sure. You got it.”

Sam smiles brightly before dashing out of the doorway, tumbling down the stairs in that graceless way all teenagers have while somehow maintaining their balance, and Dean shakes his head. He moves to the desk chair, hitting the spacebar and staring at the entry from the student directory that he’s had bookmarked for ages, but studying even more than usual these last two weeks.

_Novak, Castiel_

“Just call him,” he admonishes himself under his breath, grabbing his phone. “It’s not like you have to face him in class tomorrow, or like, _ever again_ if you make an ass of yourself.” He dials the number almost without checking the entry, nervously running his other hand through his hair as he listens to it ring: once, twice, then the third ring is interrupted by a distracted voice mumbling hello.

“Hey, hi, uh.” He swallows, throat suddenly dry as a desert. “Is, uh, Castiel there, please?”

“Who’s calling?”

He hesitates, thinking Cas might not take the call if he gives his name. “This is a friend from school.”

“A friend, huh?” The voice on the other end sounds bored. “Well, he’s not here. He left for New York right after graduation, to start his summer internship at Columbia.” There’s an odd clinking sound, like glass hitting glass, and liquid pouring. “Seems like his friends would know that.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s just. I didn’t realize he was leaving so soon and I, uh, I got a new phone so I lost all my contacts. Could you give me his cell phone number? Please? Sir?”

His palms are sweating as he writes down the number the man rattles off on a scrap of paper, thanking him before he hangs up, but Sam yells up the stairs before he can dial.

“Dean, are you coming?” 

“Yeah, Sammy, just a sec!” He rubs his palms on his thighs, taking a few deep breaths before leaving the room.

It only takes a half an hour to take Sam where he needs to go and get back home, but that’s all the time it takes for Dean to convince himself that calling Cas now is pointless. He’s over a thousand miles away, busy with his summer internship, making new friends. What would be the point of Dean reaching out to him now? What on earth would he even say? _Hi, I’m sorry I’ve never spoken to you before but the thing is...I can’t stop thinking about you._

He sits at his desk for a long time, looking at that number scrawled hastily in ink, before finally crumpling the paper in his fist and throwing it away.

***

Cas turns in a slow circle in the middle of his new apartment, pondering the haphazardly stacked boxes all carefully labeled with block printed letters in thick, black marker. It’s not long before he makes a decision, slitting open the nearest one to pull out soft cotton sheets. He makes up the bed in the corner of the room, if only so he can take a nap when he’s finished, revel in the relief of being on his own at last. Seeing the neatly made bed energizes him, though, and he’s decided to deal with the kitchen stuff next when there are three loud raps on the door. 

“I come bearing pizza,” says a voice he knows all too well, and Cas grins as he opens the door with a flourish. 

“I’ve barely even started, much less worked up an appetite yet.”

“Oh, well, I can just take this with me and come back later,” Dean says, starting to turn away.

“No, no, no.” Cas reaches across the threshold to pluck the steaming box out of his hands. “I mean, you can go if you want, but the pizza stays here.”

“Well, I go wherever the pie goes, so.” He puts his hands behind his back and rocks up on the balls of his feet, giving Cas a sheepish look. “Is it okay if I come in?”

“I would be honored to have you as my first guest.” 

He carries the pizza over to the tiny island that serves to separate the kitchen from the main living area, and Dean follows slowly, taking in what used to be an abandoned warehouse now converted into a loft: aged brick walls and a high ceiling with exposed rafters, with a grid of clouded windows along the outside wall that let in tons of light while still affording privacy. It’s a little run down, but Cas had loved it all the more for that. It’s the kind of place Dick would have refused to set foot in, and Cas eagerly waits for Dean’s reaction.

He puts his hands on his hips, gazing up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns with a soft smile. “This is a great space, even better than the pictures. I think it’s perfect for you.”

Cas tries to ignore the way his heart starts to gallop in his chest, like wild horses thundering across the prairie, unfettered and free. _I guess this is what it’s like_ , he thinks, staring down at the box so the emotion on his face doesn’t betray him. _This is what it’s like to really be seen._

He clears his throat, flipping open the box and then frowning down at the contents. “I don’t know where the plates are yet.” 

“It’s foldable food, we’ll manage.” Dean winks at him as he pulls out a slice, and Cas laughs a little as he follows suit. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I know you hired movers to bring everything over but I could help you unpack? That’s always the worst part.”

“I’d like that, but I don’t want you to waste your whole day off putting away kitchen utensils.”

Dean pauses with a slice halfway to his mouth, his eyes dark with conviction. “Time spent with you is never wasted, Cas.” 

The intensity of his gaze is hard to mistake, and Cas feels again the certainty of what Dean is offering, of all the things that could be his for the taking if only…

“We’ll see how you feel after you’ve unpacked boxes all day,” he retorts, guilt shifting his gaze to the landscape of bread and meat and cheese, telling himself that now is not the time for this conversation. 

He’d never imagined that unpacking boxes was an activity that could be fraught with sexual tension, but it doesn’t take more than an hour for the air in the room to feel electrified. They make quick work of one stack, filling drawers and cabinets as their limbs idly brush together in the cramped space of the kitchen, and despite the cool temperature Cas feels a damp sheen of sweat on his brow that has little to do with exertion. 

“Why do these ones look weird?” Dean asks as he slices the tape on a battered box that once held copier paper and only has his name on the side of it, just like three other boxes nearby.

“Oh, well. Those are boxes that were never unpacked during my last move.” 

“What? Why?” Dean flips the lid off the box, peering curiously inside. There’s a book on the top, faux red leather with the _Precious Memories_ stamped on the front in gold leaf. Cas pulls it out, flipping back the cover with a smile. 

“Dick thought all this stuff was too sentimental to put out on display.” He sits cross-legged on the floor beside the boxes, album open in his lap with a birth announcement on the very first page. “Of course now I realize that he didn’t want any personal things in the apartment for an entirely different reason.” Dean sinks to the floor beside him, peering at the album as Cas slowly flips through the pages, plastic film slightly yellowed with age and wrinkled by time. “I haven’t looked at any of these since I packed them to move in with him.”

“Look at you,” Dean teases, bumping his shoulder lightly, leaning into his space to look at three-year old Cas, holding a red balloon out to the person taking the picture, face smeared with frosting and sporting a huge smile. “I prefer pie myself, but to each their own.”

“Shut up, it’s not like you have the luxury of choice at that age, you take whatever you’re given.” He reaches the end of that album and pulls out another, this one blue with an embossed design around the edges of the front cover that seems to pick up where the other one left off.

“How old are you there?” Dean points to the far right page, arm brushing against his own as he reaches across to tap on a specific picture. 

“About six, I think. Pretty sure this is for Easter Sunday, just before church.” His younger self is wearing slacks and a white button down shirt with bright blue suspenders and a tie to match, looking rather pleased with himself as he preens for the camera. 

“You wear it well,” Dean says, pulling his arm back but not away, still close enough that Cas can feel the warmth of his breath, arm laying casually against his own now. There’s a few more pages of pictures but they end before the album does, something he’d forgotten. “Why isn’t it finished?”

Cas closes the book, setting it aside and leaning into the box to pull something else out, throat thick. “My mom died suddenly, when I was seven. Car accident. Dad wasn’t the type to take pictures, although…” He pulls out a thick folder and sets it on his lap. “He was a hoarder, so he kept virtually everything else: crayon drawings, student of the month awards, report cards, you name it.”

He starts to open the folder, but Dean lays a hand on his knee, even through denim as warm as sand on a summer day. 

“I didn’t know that, about your mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Dean nods, but his eyes have a faraway look in them.

“I was four, and it was a fire. I can’t even remember her, not really. Still hurts sometimes, though.” He clears his throat, and Cas covers that hand with his own, fingers twining together as they curl around his knee. 

“That must have been terrible for you, and for Sam, if he never knew her.”

“Yeah, but you know. Our dad floundered for a while, since he didn’t really know what to do with two young kids. Lots of family friends took care of us here and there, until he finally got a steady job and a permanent place to live. By then I was used to looking after Sammy.”

“I remember.”

“You do?”

“I, uh.” He swallows, looking away. “I would see Sam with you all the time. You’d drive him to school, or take him to the library. You’d both be in there for hours sometimes, but you’d keep an eye on him, make him take breaks to eat and hydrate.”

“Cas Novak, you shy voyeur.” Dean bumps their shoulders together again, clasping their hands tighter. “I didn’t know you were watching.”

“When it came to you, _everybody_ was watching,” he teases back. 

“You never seemed the type to succumb to peer pressure, Cas.”

“As if you knew anything about me back then. Pretty sure I was invisible to the entire student population.” 

“Not to me.” 

“That’s not how I remember it.” He knows Dean never paid any attention to him, not once, because he knows he would never have forgotten it. He would have replayed any encounter over and over, holding it close like a comfort blanket, wearing it down until it was soft and thin and frayed at the edges. Tattered, but precious, a moment freely given instead of stolen in the dark. He looks down at their clasped fingers, struck with guilt. 

Dean pulls their hands apart and shifts a little so they’re facing each other, and Cas curls his empty fingers around the curve of his knee, relishing the lingering warmth there.

“There’s been something on my mind for a while that I need to talk to you about, from back when we were in school. It’s just, I know how important honesty is to you, after what happened with your ex.” 

_He knows_. _He’s always known._

“You’re right,” Cas says slowly. “Truth is always the best option.”

“Right.” 

“It really wasn’t okay.”

“It wasn’t?” Dean looks crestfallen, and he sits back slightly. “Right. Yeah, of course.” 

“I should have never taken advantage of you like that.”

“Advantage?” 

“I know it’s been years but, to be honest, I can’t believe you’re even talking to me. That you would even give me the time of day after the way I acted back then is just…”

“Wait a second.”

“I was slightly drunk and very, very stupid.” He shakes his head, trying to dispel the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes, unable to look at Dean directly but unwilling to stop talking, needing to get it all out at once. “It’s not a defense, but I think everyone is at that age. Stupid, I mean. Not slightly drunk.”

“Cas.”

“I thought I’d never see you again, which doesn’t make it okay, certainly, because consent is _important_ , but Bal was so convincing and I…”

“Cas!” Dean takes him by the shoulders, giving him a slight shake. “I don’t think we’re on the same page, here.”

“We’re...we’re not?” He blinks a few times but Dean doesn’t let go, face inches from his own, and Cas looks at him helplessly, remembering. “What are we talking about?”

_Tell me who you are._

“Well, _I’m_ trying to apologize for acting like I didn’t see you all through school, because the opposite was true.”

“You…”

“But you’re rambling about drinking and Bal and consent and I…” He stops suddenly, eyes darting between Cas’s own, widening as the pieces no doubt fall into place. Cas tenses, seeing the exact moment he makes the connection, bracing against the inevitable onslaught. The next thing Dean says comes out in a strangled whisper. “It was _you_.” Cas is released as Dean’s hands fall away.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t know how much. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I…”

Dean’s hands come up to frame his jaw, thumbs pressing against his lips. “Stop talking.” Thumbs move slowly to the corners of his mouth, the softest caress, and his lips part slightly at the sensation, drawing Dean’s gaze. Eyes linger there for a moment, then dart up to his own, seeking something.

Seeking permission.

And getting it.

Cas leans in, brushing their lips together with a touch that’s feather light, hesitant. The next press is firmer, confident of acceptance. Cas leans into it, hands coming up to grasp Dean’s forearms as their lips meet and retreat, again and again as if they had all the time in the world.

It’s Dean that pulls away first, leaning their foreheads together as he catches his breath, hands never leaving Cas’s face. 

“Nope, I don’t think it was you.”

“Excuse me?” Cas pulls away to find an intense, thoughtful look on Dean’s face.

“Well, I’ve gotta be honest, that night features very heavily in my fantasy rotation.”

“Is that so?” 

“I mean, it was a long time ago, but I vividly remember the hottest makeout session of my entire life.”

“I see.”

“ _Vividly_. And those very, very nice kisses were nothing like…”

He doesn’t get much farther, because Cas climbs into his lap and kisses him with all the pent up yearning of more than just the last few months. The feel of Dean’s lips under his, the heat of his body between Cas’s thighs, the eagerness in his kiss. It’s as though the last fourteen years melt away and once again Cas is just a clumsy teenager, stealing the only opportunity he imagines he’ll ever have with the object of his desire. 

There is one thing that’s vastly different from before, suddenly grounding him in the present: Dean’s arms come up to grip him tightly, one tangling in his hair and the other wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer in a way he couldn’t the first time, bound to a chair and helpless to resist. His obvious enthusiasm spurs Cas to deepen the kiss, plundering Dean’s mouth with his tongue until he pulls away with a gasp, eyes wide and dark.

“Cas, wait, I…”

“No.” He leans in and suckles on Dean’s bottom lip, relishing the strangled moan that comes out of his throat. “Talk later. Christen apartment now.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Take me to bed, Dean.”

***

The light through the windows is weaker when Dean wakes up, disoriented by his surroundings for a moment until he takes stock of a few things. One, he is very naked. Two, he is pleasantly sore in several different places. Three, all his limbs are equally tangled with the sheets and another, also very naked, body in the bed with him. He runs a hand gently down Cas’s spine, letting the pads of his fingertips graze lightly against all that exposed skin, using his other hand to trace the shape of a bicep across his torso, shoulder to elbow and back again. 

The body in his arms shifts, head turning to press a kiss into his pectoral, then peering up at him with lidded eyes. 

“Hey, there.” He runs a hand through all that dark hair, pleased at the disheveled result, and Cas leans into his touch like a contented cat. “Sleep well?” he says smugly, proud of the even tone of his voice despite the spinning sensation in his head. He’s naked, in bed, with Cas. _Cas_. The object of a hundred different schoolboy fantasies, and a thousand more adult ones. 

“Mmmm,” is the first response he gets, followed by “how long were we asleep?”

“A couple of hours, I think.”

Cas responds with another pleased hum before leaning up to press a soft kiss to Dean’s lips, lingering briefly, mouths parting with a soft sound. Cas lays his head back down on Dean’s chest, ear pressed against his heart, looking up at him. 

“I take it you’ve accepted my apology?” He arches an eyebrow as he says it, and Dean thinks that eyebrow alone could command him to do very naughty things.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t have done it.” Cas reaches up to trace a finger over Dean’s lips. “And I should have told you before now.”

“If only so we could have done this reenactment sooner.” He pulls his gaze away, staring at the ceiling so he can concentrate. Naked, sleepy Cas is entirely too distracting. “Does this mean I get to give you my apology now?”

“Apology for what?”

“Every time I thought about that night, I always imagined it was you.” Cas stiffens under his hands, and Dean worries for a fraction of a second before feeling him relax again. “I never would have told you so, though. I kept a lot hidden back then, even from myself.” 

“You always seemed so open, so comfortable in your own skin.”

“Well that’s because I’m a phenomenal actor, why do you think I was voted _Most Likely to Become Internet Famous?”_

Cas bites him playfully. “Every girl and probably half the guys in school voted for you, that’s why, Mr. Popular.”

“Not you, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You hated me back then, come on. I was a fucking jerk.”

“You weren’t a jerk. I mean, I thought you were at first, but after awhile I changed my mind.” He says this last part so softly that Dean’s eyes are drawn to him again. “Even though you never spoke to me.”

“I wanted to,” Dean whispers. “But I was a dumb kid. I was scared of what people would say to me if they knew.”

“Knew what?”

“How much I wanted your attention.” Cas hides his face shyly in Dean’s stomach, and that shouldn’t be so cute, they’re in their _thirties. “_ It scared me. It wasn’t until I was in college that I could admit to myself that I had an unrequited crush on you for years.”

“Not unrequited,” Cas says, resting his hands on Dean’s stomach and propping his chin on them. “Unwelcome, maybe, because I hated being such a cliche, but not unrequited.”

“You were not.”

“Biggest loser in school carrying a torch for the most popular jock? It’s the _textbook_ definition of cliche.”

“More so than the closeted guy making out with every willing girl so no one knows he’s got a crush on the nerdy kid with the blue eyes and the weird name? At least mine is more in keeping with the times.”

“Well, I can’t say you haven’t made points.”

Dean laughs, and Cas smiles, the sight of it warming him from the inside. “I wish we hadn’t been so dumb then. It might have saved a lot of time.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are a lot of useful things we both learned along the way that we wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

“Like that thing you do with your tongue?” Dean teases. “Because that was worth waiting for, believe me. You’ll have to teach me so I can reciprocate.”

“Well,” Cas says as he moves to straddle Dean’s thighs in one fluent movement. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

“Round two, Professor?” 

“I hope you came prepared.”

***

_Fourteen Weeks Later_

It’s snowing slightly as Cas gets out of the cab in front of _Sixty-Seven on 76th_ , offering a hand to help Meg exit curbside. She raises an eyebrow at his chivalry but still takes his hand before following him the few steps to the entrance, careless of the damp’s effect on her hair. They’re buffeted by the warm air inside as they exit the revolving door, the hushed swish of the seal nearly lost in the buzz within the crowded restaurant. 

“You know the only reason I agreed to come as your plus one is because it’s here, right?”

“I’m well aware that you’re only here for fancy grilled cheese, and am not the least bit offended.”

“I still think it’s laced with a controlled substance.”

“Technically that’s true. Do you have any idea how much cheese manufacture and sale is regulated?”

“You spend entirely too much time reading about laws that don’t even apply tax law.”

“And you spend entirely too much time looking at pictures of bladed weapons for an assistant.”

“Personal safety is extremely important.” They remove their coats to hand off to a familiar figure, and Gilda greets them both warmly before gesturing towards the back of the restaurant. “It’s really disappointing that you wouldn’t let me bring any of my knives, considering who else is going to be here.”

“You could always spill really hot soup on him.”

“I would never waste such a precious commodity on Dick, how dare you.” The bar area has been cordoned off, with a placard on an easel declaring _Closed for Private Party_ , and Cas glances around. He doesn’t see who he’s looking for, but does catch a glimpse of his least favorite person, who catches his eye and beckons him over to an empty spot beside him. “I can’t believe he’s still pulling this shit,” Meg hisses. “Take a hint, buddy.”

“No one’s even hinting anymore, and he still hasn’t gotten the message. Come on, there’s someone here I want you to meet.”

Cas moves between Dick and the various sharp weapons evoked by Meg's gaze in his direction, although he wouldn't block her aim if he actually thought she could manifest any of them. 

“You certainly took your time, young Novak.”

“Ms. MacLeod,” he says warmly, catching her hand to raise to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles as she titters lightly. “It’s a pleasure to see you, as always. I’m surprised that you came.”

“I’m sure Mr. Adler invited me for clout, as the kids say,” Rowena whispers. “But I never turn down free food.”

“You are an exceptionally smart woman.”

“Not to mention a stunner,” Meg says, digging an elbow into his ribs, and Rowena casts an appreciative glance in her direction.

“Who’s your friend, dear?”

“This is my assistant, Meg Masters. Meg, this is…”

“The famous Rowena.” She takes her hand to kiss her knuckles as well, and Cas rolls his eyes. “I am in no way disappointed to finally see you in the flesh.” There’s a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous grin on her face, and Cas thinks this may have been a bad idea.

“You’re even more charming than young Novak, aren’t you?”

“Where do you think he learned?” She smacks Cas lightly on the arm. “Get me a drink while I entertain this goddess, won’t you, young Novak?”

Cas shakes his head as he makes his way to the bar, elbowing into an empty space and finding Charlie alone for the moment. He gestures her over as soon as she’s free.

"Hey, Cas! Usual for you?”

“Please, and a glass of merlot for my assistant." 

"Assistant? Is that the one with the long dark hair and the stilleto smile talking to Rowena?”

Cas laughs. "Yes, that's exactly the one. Meg is her name." 

"When she came in she looked at someone across the bar like she wanted him dead.”

"That’s because she definitely does.”

“Dude, she's frightening, but in a hot way.

“Well, she’s distracted now, so we may not need backup. Speaking of backup, where’s yours?”

“Went to get more glasses since the new kid’s on a break, but he’ll be back any minute. Just in time, too, check your six.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Castiel,” oozes an unpleasant voice from behind him, and he involuntarily cringes. “Perhaps you didn’t see me when you came in.”

“I did, actually, which is why I went in the opposite direction.” Charlie bites her lip as she uncorks a bottle of wine, and Cas winks at her. “I’m not obligated to interact with you outside of the workplace.”

He glances over his shoulder to see that Dick’s approach hasn’t gone unnoticed. Meg is staring at him as though she could burn a hole through the side of his head from a distance. 

“Mad respect for her glare game,” Charlie whispers as she puts an overly full glass of wine in front of him before turning away to get his beer.

“It’s not really in your best interest to continue being rude to me, Castiel. You know I’ll likely be taking over for Adler now that he’s retiring.”

“Will you, now? Did I miss the announcement?”

“Of course it will be me, I’m the only logical choice.”

“I see.”

Just then the door to the kitchen swings open, and Dean backs into the bar area with a tray full of glasses, a smile blossoming over his face when he turns to see Cas, though it falters minutely when he catches who’s next to him.

“Hey handsome,” Dean says, giving him a wink that shows he’s completely recovered. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Are you really still entertaining this _bartender_ ,” Dick says, as though he’s a king speaking of a lowly serf. “I would have thought you’d have gotten it out of your system by now.”

“I think you’re confused about which one of us is the virus and which is the cure, buddy.”

Cas bites the inside of his cheek when he hears Meg snicker from behind him, and he hands the wine glass back without looking in her direction.

“How dare you speak to me that way,” Dick seethes.

“Just calling it like I see it, asshole.” 

“You…” Dick sputters before drawing himself up, tall with fury, voice turning colder than the outside air. “I’d like to speak to the manager.”

“Oh, dear, this will not end well,” Rowena says under her breath. She must have followed in Meg’s wake. Dick’s chest puffs out with an inflated sense of superiority that makes Cas think wildly of Daffy Duck, and he takes a sip of his beer to obscure his face.

“You want to speak...to the manager?” Dean repeats incredulously, blinking a few times before stealing a glance at Cas. “Hey, uh, Charlie? Can you get _the manager_?”

“Of course. Just a moment, _sir_ ,” she says sweetly, ducking into the kitchen as Dick huffs through his nose, the rest of their party a frozen tableau until Charlie returns with Benny at her heels, looking confused.

“What seems to be the problem, here?” He glances sideways at Dean, who just gestures in Dick’s direction, and then at Cas, who only meets his eyes briefly before looking away. 

“This _bartender_ ,” Dick sneers, waving a hand dismissively in Dean’s direction. “Was disrespectful to me and used foul language. I want him disciplined.”

Benny looks stunned. “Disciplined?” He crosses his arms and regards Dick coolly. “Well, you see, I’m not sure I have the authority to do that.”

“Are you the manager or not?”

“Oh, I’m the general manager, yes. But there are two reasons I can’t, uh, _discipline_ Mr. Winchester here. First of all, we don’t have that kind of intimate relationship anymore, so spanking him is not my job. Although if you want to do that later, Cas, I’m sure he’d be on board. If memory serves correctly.”

“Noted.”

“Hey now, behave,” Dean says, pointing at him, and he shrugs.

“Excuse me?” Dick practically screeches.

“The second reason,” Benny continues, unperturbed, “is that he owns this place, and I’m pretty sure it would violate the chain of command if I tried to discipline the guy who pays me.”

“Yeah, I heard it’s supposed to work the other way around,” Dean says conversationally, turning to Charlie for confirmation.

“Pretty sure.”

“Did you hear that, Meg? There’s a hierarchy. You could learn from these people.”

“Don’t get sassy, boss, technically Joshua is the one who pays me.”

“I don’t believe for a second that this uncultured cretin is the owner of this establishment,” Dick grits through his teeth.

“Well, the framed article from their opening that’s hanging behind the bar can attest otherwise,” Rowena says cheerily. “Or you could take my word for it, since I’m the one who invested in sweet Dean, here.” He bows slightly in her direction, and she raises her glass. Dick looks from her to Dean and back again, utterly at a loss. “This is the part where you accept that you’re beaten, dear. It’s probably best that you go away now.”

Dick shrugs his shoulders and straightens his tie, maintaining a highly dignified air even as he walks away, but he doesn’t get very far before the entire group erupts into laughter.

***

The city has a surreal quality at night, Cas thinks as he stands in front of the restaurant watching a succession of snowflakes fall through the arc of a streetlight's glow, spiraling down and down until it touches the sidewalk, both its destination and its demise. He wonders if any of it will start to stick by the time he gets home, fantasizing about a weekend huddled in blankets and sipping hot chocolate with a warm body for company.

It's cold out but he's not uncomfortable, not yet, so he leans against a streetlight away from the entrance and waits. It's not long before Dean pushes through the revolving door, pulling a knit cap onto his head as he looks around, smiling when he spots Cas.

"Hey," he says as he walks over, hands in his pockets. "What's going on?"

"Just impatiently waiting for this night to be over.”

"Yeah, I know how that feels." He shivers, pulling his coat around himself more tightly. "Listen, before you say anything else, I’m sorry if that was awkward for you earlier.”

"Awkward?" Dean's statement throws him off and he blinks several times. "That’s not the word I was thinking of, no.”

Dean moves a bit closer. "Okay, one: I embarrassed you in front of your coworkers." Cas starts to protest, but Dean shakes his head. "Two: I acted in a manner unbecoming of a professional. And so," at this he moves firmly into Cas's space, looking him directly in the eye. "I think it’s only fair that you take me back to your place so you can, uh, what was the word?"

“Discipline?”

“Yes. Discipline me.”

"Oh." Cas inches a bit closer until they're practically touching, eyes flicking down to Dean's lips. "And how would you like me to do that?"

“Well, I can be unruly, so you’d probably need to restrain me.”

“If I recall, that doesn’t do much to temper your excitement.”

“Well, I know exactly who’s fault it is for putting that in my kink database.” 

The air between them is heavy with promise, heated despite the chill air all around them. "So I should probably accept some of the blame, is what you’re saying." 

“Maybe.” Dean is impossibly close now, taking Cas by the lapels of his coat and holding him firmly in place as he gives him a searing kiss. “What do you say we go get out of here and go celebrate your new promotion?”


End file.
